


Exploring Darkness

by Tathrin



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Claustrophobia, Exploration, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-17
Updated: 2004-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-14 12:12:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 36,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tathrin/pseuds/Tathrin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gimli and Legolas take a young Eldarion adventuring. Their duty: to teach the young prince about life outside Minas Tirith, and to bring him home in a condition that won't make Arwen grab for <i>Hadhafang</i>—which is easier said than done!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Darkness

“Legolas?”

He heard Gimli calling his name, but could not respond. He could not tear his attention from the rough, cold blackness in front of him. One moment he had been following Gimli, and the next he had found only solid stone in his path. Unable to see in the constricting blackness of the close stone chamber, he could not tell what had happened, how he had lost the dwarf. He could hear Gimli’s voice, but he dared not turn away from the rock to find him. What if he could not find his way back? That was always a fear in Legolas’s mind when he entered caves with his friend, although always he was able to ignore it, to push it away. But now, now that he could not find Gimli, could not reach out and touch the solid shoulder he was used to following through the darkness, he dared not move.

Trembling slightly, the elf pushed himself closer to the jagged stone wall that blocked his way. He closed his eyes—not that it made a difference in this endless dark—and tried to calm his breathing. It was starting to get quick and shallow, and the last thing he needed was for Gimli to hear him hyperventilating. He didn’t want to worry his friend over a silly fear. And really, there was nothing to be afraid of. The cave was not going to suddenly collapse—although Legolas was often afraid of that as well—and his reaction right now was hardly fitting. His father would be ashamed of his weakness. _He_ was ashamed of his weakness.

But he still could not move away from the rock.

“Legolas?” The dwarf’s voice was closer now, so close that it seemed right next to him. Legolas jumped when he felt a touch on his arm.

Relief flooded through the elf. “Gimli?” Legolas was embarrassed to notice a faint quaver in his voice, although he hoped that perhaps his friend might have missed it. “I, um, suppose I must have turned the wrong way,” he said lightly. “So, shall we continue?”

The dwarf looked up at his friend, although he could not see him in the darkness. He heard the faint quaver in the elf’s voice, and felt the arm beneath his gloved hand trembling slightly. Gimli frowned. He knew that his friend did not care for caves, although there were a few he had found quite beautiful, but he had no idea that they affected him like this. He would never have dragged Legolas in here if he had known.

“Nay,” said Gimli gruffly, “I think that is enough for today. Perhaps another time.”

“But Uncle Gimli,” piped up a small voice, “we did not even get through the entrance!”

“I, uh, I do not like the smell of the air today,” said the dwarf vaguely. “We shall return later, Prince Eldarion.” _Without Legolas_ , he mentally promised himself.

“Nay,” said Legolas, “we have come this far, we ought not to disappoint the boy. Let us go on.”

Gimli scowled at his friend. He knew the elf could not see it in the dark, but he also knew that Legolas would feel the glare turned on him. The elvish fingers that rested lightly on his should still shook slightly, although the prince’s voice was now under control once more.

“Oh, good!” squealed Eldarion in excitement. “Come, Uncle Gimli, lead us the rest of the way in!”

Neither elf nor dwarf could refuse the young prince anything he asked, as so, grumbling darkly, he set out. He put one hand on the young prince’s shoulder to guide him—the dwarf knew these stones by heart, and could walk them easily in the dark—while making sure that he did not go so quickly that the light touch of the far older prince on his shoulder faltered.


	2. Light Within Dark

Eldarion kept shooting furtive glances at his uncles, but in the pitch black of the cave, he couldn’t even make out their forms. He thought perhaps he caught an occasional glint of Legolas’s eyes, but he had to crane his neck backward to see over his shoulder—and the shadow that must have been where Gimli’s head was—so he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that something had happened that he had missed—not altogether unusual when around these two uncles, who tended to communicate without words—but this seemed different somehow. Something bigger had happened, but he couldn’t tell what.

He couldn’t think about it too hard right now, though, because he was trying not to trip. Uncle Gimli had a very strong grip on his shoulder, so he couldn’t fall down or get lost, so he wasn’t scared. But Eldarion still had to pay attention to where he was putting his feet, for there were numerable small rocks, dips, and bumps scattered across the floor of the tunnel they were in, and he had already stubbed his toes quite a few times. But a few bruised toes was worth it for the chance to go exploring with his uncles.

Eldarion had only recently been allowed to go along on some of their trips, and he was overjoyed at the prospect. Legolas and Gimli were his two favorite uncles. Oh, he liked Faramir and Éomer to be sure, but they just weren’t as much fun. Uncle Faramir was very conscious of duty, and one of those duties was to protect the young heir to Gondor—namely Eldarion—which meant that he had a tendency to veto things that would doubtless be fun but possibly quite treacherous. He was also more respectful of the boy, being Gondor’s Steward. When Aunt Éowyn was around, Uncle Faramir would relax more, and Eldarion enjoyed his company most at those times. Uncle Éomer, who was Aunt Éowyn’s brother, was as much fun as Legolas and Gimli usually, but Eldarion did not see him very often. Like ada, Éomer was a king, and so he was often very busy—like ada—doing “ruling” things. And unlike ada, he couldn’t just pop in to see Eldarion whenever he had a free moment, because it took such a long time to get from Rohan to Gondor.

So aside from his parents—and his sisters, who were nice enough, but they were mostly already learning how to be proper princesses and ladies, and that didn’t seem as much fun as learning how to be a Ranger, although they seemed to enjoy it—Eldarion’s favorite people were his Uncles Gimli and Legolas. They were always having fun, and were always willing to share that fun with anyone around. Not only that, but they were _funny_. Even when Eldarion didn’t understand their jokes, he joined in with their laughter—it was very infectious. Which was probably the reason that his ada hadn’t banished them from the council room more than three times that Eldarion knew of. They had a tendency to be a little…irreverent, at times. That was something else that the boy could appreciate, because as his education went on he grew more and more appreciative and aware of how nice it could be to poke fun at authority and convention.

And, of course, there were the adventures they took him on. Eldarion had seen more of Gondor than anyone else his age, as well as quite a bit beyond the borders. Because his ada was so busy, he couldn’t always go along, and Gimli and Legolas were more than happy to fill in for their friend. And now he was going to get to explore a cave! Gimli was always going on about caves, but Eldarion had never been in a real cave, not that he remembered. He had seen the Glittering Caves when he was a baby, but he couldn’t remember them (which Uncle Gimli said was a crime beyond words). Until Eldarion had a chance to go back to Rohan and see them again, the dwarf had decided to do his best to show the lad the good caves in the surrounding area. They were teaching Eldarion how to survive in the wild, and knowing how to be safe in a cave, Uncle Gimli said, was a vital skill (although Uncle Legolas had disagreed).

The two had spirited the young prince away from his guards and nursemaids—with his parents’ permission, of course—and taken him into the area around Minas Tirith. He had learned how to walk quietly, scale a tree while wearing packs and without dropping his weapons, find a good spot to ford a stream, and make a campfire. Tonight, he was going to learn how to cook something over one, and he would have to light it without assistance.

But today he was exploring the cave. Uncle Gimli had given a very long lecture on safety underground before they had set in, and Eldarion had done his best to commit it to memory. He had answered most of the dwarf’s questions more-or-less accurately, and Gimli had pronounced him to be “satisfactory, for a human princeling—and a fair sight better than certain Elvish princelings I won’t name.” Eldarion had giggled at that, although he had tried to look very serious when Uncle Legolas pretended to glare at him.

And now he was in a cave! A _real_ cave, not the little holes in the ground he had played in before. This was a Cave, and he was going to learn all about it! Eldarion was so excited, he could hardly keep from skipping—but he knew he had to, because if he skipped he would trip and Uncle Gimli might think that perhaps they ought to come back tomorrow. He was glad that Uncle Legolas had convinced him not to leave. Eldarion _really_ wanted to see this marvelous cave Uncle Gimli had talked about.

 

At last Gimli stopped them. They were out of the tunnel, although neither of his companions seemed to know. The dwarf had kept up a steady and silent growl of curses as he had guided them inside, nearly all of which were directed at the friend trying not to cling to his shoulder. _Elves_ , he thought darkly. _Why they had to be such stubborn, prideful creatures…_ Gimli, of course, had forgotten for the moment that they much resembled dwarves in that respect.

He let go of the boy’s shoulder, whispering for him to stay still. He could feel the youngster nod seriously in the darkness, and had to smile. His smile vanished when he turned to Legolas, whose sharp ears had overheard the command. The elf’s hand had clenched convulsively on the dwarf’s armored shoulder, then quickly dropped from it. Gimli scowled at the faint glitter of eyes above his head.

“You just wait there, Master Elf,” he said gruffly. “I need to light the torches—then you’ll be able to see. I’m just going a few steps. Do you think you—”

“Enough,” said Legolas sharply, cutting him off. “I am quite fine, thank you, Master Dwarf. If you would be so kind as to light the torches so that you can show Eldarion your fine cave?” He spoke coldly to disguise the irrational fear that still gripped him. Keeping a hand on Gimli’s shoulder, he had occasionally reached out to touch the tunnel walls as they walked. While he hated the feeling of being closed in by the thick rock, the fact that the walls were so close meant that he had not feared getting separated; there was nowhere to go. But when Gimli had stopped them, the elf had reached out only to find there was nothing there. Instead of the rough stone encircling them, his hand had met only empty blackness. And while he much preferred large spaces to tight ones, Legolas liked large spaces he could see, not endless black voids. Doing his best to center himself—he had no idea why it should suddenly be so difficult, when it was something he had practiced all his long life—he fought the panic back down. He did not know why this cave should so ill-affect him, but he was not about to let his weakness betray him again.

Gimli glared at the elf, knowing that even though Legolas could not see his fiery expression the elf’s senses would feel it. Then he sighed and turned away, stomping across the cavern by memory to light the torches he had left there. The first spark seemed out of place in the thick darkness, but by the time the second torch was lit the firelight flickering across the stones was fitting and comforting, even to the darkness-accustomed dwarf. He knew Legolas would probably be going limp with relief at being able to see again, and he cursed himself for never noticing how much his friend truly hated caves. Well, this was the last time he would ever drag the elf into one—and they would have words this evening about secrets that were better not kept, and not all of them would be kind!

But Gimli forgot his wrath for a time when he saw the look of wonder that slowly spread over Eldarion’s face in the torchlight. The boy looked around like a child suddenly presented with his heart’s desire. Gimli’s eyes sparkled like an elf’s due to the liquid that was filling them, although he would maintain that it was nothing more than smoke from the flames he’d been kindling. Filled with nearly as much delight as the boy, Gimli had darted around the large, glimmering cave with the young prince, showing pools as deep as the sky whose bottom lay only a finger-length below the surface and ancient stalactites so old that they had met their stalagmite twin and fused into brilliantly colored columns. He pointed out strange and beautiful formations in the water-carved rock and explained how over eons long even to elves the small, fragile drips of water had created this wonder from the depths of the earth.

It was difficult to say which one was happier just then; the awed child staring in wonder of the gruff dwarf, tears of pride and joy in his eyes. Even Legolas was touched by the scene, although he watched from a distance rather than run among the rocks with his friends. The smiles on Gimli and Eldarion’s faces were more than enough to make up for the fear he had felt getting here.

They were all the reward the elf needed to make the darkness endurable.


	3. Sputtering Torches

The first sign of how long they had been in the cave was the sputtering of a torch. Gimli looked up, and saw that it had almost burnt out. Suddenly the awareness of time that had vanished with Eldarion’s innocent delight in the cavern came rushing back, and the dwarf almost groaned aloud. Originally he had planned for their exploration of the cave to be a full day’s event, and had placed several extra torches around for when the first started to dim. The pack on his back even had a light lunch that he had intended for them to picnic on in an adjoining room of the caverns; it had a formation that was so table-like the dwarf had always pictured someone (perhaps Aulë) dining on it. But after Legolas’s bought of fright, he had changed his plans. Instead, he had decided to only show Eldarion enough to satisfy the boy, and then get his friend out of here.

But joy and delight were contagious, especially when the feelings came from Eldarion. Time had slipped away from Gimli, and a short time had turned into two hours. Abandoning the crystal pool in which he was showing the young prince the ceiling of the cavern above their heads, he suddenly announced, “all right, that’s all the time we have. Come along, lad; go stand by your uncle while I put out these torches.”

Eldarion’s face fell into disappointment and he sighed a sigh so ponderous is surely came from a much older and more suffering breast, but he did as he was told. Legolas tried to catch Gimli’s eye, but the dwarf carefully ignored him.

“I’ll just extinguish these a moment, then I’ll lead you back out, lad,” he said, pretending to be reassuring Eldarion, who seemed to have no fear of either darkness or caverns. “Just stay there by the tunnel, I can find you in the dark.” In reality, he was speaking to the Elf, and they both knew it. Only the boy was oblivious to the subtle signals being exchanged, but he was so overcome with awe that they could have spoken plainly and he still would have paid little mind.

Firmly placing a hand on Eldarion’s shoulder to steer the lad out of the cave, Gimli waited until he felt Legolas’s hand to move. What he felt first, however, was a light whisper in his ear, so quiet that even the echoing cavern could not amplify it.

“What do you think you are doing? It is not yet noontime,” the Elf hissed.

Gimli tried to direct a scowl at his friend. Knowing that he could not keep his own words from reaching the sharp ears of the boy, the dwarf replied as if he were simply telling Eldarion what their next event of the day would be. “We’ll start you on that campfire a bit sooner, I think, lad,” he said casually. “That way if it takes a long time to light, we won’t be waiting on our dinner. Instead of just lighting it, however, I want you to know how to build the thing from scratch. You can borrow one of my axes.”

“Really?” The boy’s eyes had lit up so brightly you could hear it in his voice. “Oh, Uncle Gimli, can I really? And if I get it lit in time, can I help look for the game for dinner? Please? And—and can you teach me another song, Uncle Legolas?”

“Of course,” the elf replied, voice carefully pitched to disguise any discomfort he felt at being in the small, dark space. “We shall do our best to keep your day so filled you will drop to sleep before the moon has fully claimed the sky.” Unspoken but not unreceived was the thought that they would have to make it a very interesting and busy day to make up for the abbreviated visit to the cave. Gimli shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing. Cave or no cave, the lad would have fun, they would see to that—and it would be fun that would not put the elf through any ordeal more horrific than trying to hunt with a human child in tow. But, of course, the elf would see to it that Gimli suffered far worse for his change of plans. He was surely already plotting something fitting, the dwarf knew—perhaps scavenging for fruit in the trees, which the two half-monkeys would toss down to their disgruntled companion below. Which was still a sight better than forcing said companion to join them in the trees. He sighed.

Gimli had a feeling that Eldarion would not be the only one tired this night.


	4. Confidences

Legolas could feel Gimli’s eyes on him from across the campfire. The elf did his best to ignore it, but the dwarf was stubborn. At last, after the fifth—and loudest—time he cleared his throat, Legolas turned to look at him.

“Hush,” he scolded, “you will wake Eldarion.”

Gimli chuckled. “I will do no such thing. That boy sleeps like the dead. Stop fussing and talk to me.”

Legolas replied in an overly bright voice, “what is there that needs to be said?”

The innocent act fooled neither of them. “What happened?” Gimli asked him.

At first, Legolas thought to protest and pretend that he knew not of what Gimli spoke, but then his shoulders slumped. “I lost my way, _elvellon_ ,” he said softly, staring at the fire. Gimli could see through the flickering lights shadows gathered in the elf’s deep eyes. “I turned, and my fingers met stone, and I did not know where you were.” He looked up and met Gimli’s eyes, and the dwarf saw that not all the fear of the morning had dissipated. “I knew that you were somewhere near, but I could not bring myself to step away from the stone and find you.” He looked away, his pale face hidden by his hair. “I am sorry…I did not mean to shame myself so.”

Gimli raised an eyebrow. “Shame yourself?”

“With my cowardice,” the elf explained painfully. “I am sorry for causing you such trouble.”

“Trouble! Sorry!” Gimli remembered just in time to keep his voice down. “You, Master Elf, will be sorry the next time you pull a stunt like that! Why did you come in the cursed cave in the first place?”

Legolas looked at him, confused. “Why would I not?”

“Why would you not?” the dwarf repeated. “Because it is such an ordeal! Had I known what I was putting you through, I would have never dragged you into a single cave! I certainly won’t do it again!”

“Nay!” Legolas objected. “Gimli, do not take on so! ‘Twas but a moment that shall not recur! I would not be relegated to standing outside whilst you explore beneath the earth!”

“I would never want you to endure—”

“Gimli, no! I do not—I do not always suffer thus, you know!” The faint flush in his cheeks told Gimli that he had insulted his friend’s pride. “I am not the coward you think me to be! I pray, forget this lapse. I shall never speak of it again, and I hope you will not, either.”

Gimli frowned. “We are most certainly not done speaking of it!” he growled. “Not until I know how often you find yourself in straits like that.”

Legolas stiffened. “You need not concern yourself. I will be fine.”

“You most certainly will not. Not until you tell me what ails you. You forget, Master Elf, I have been in many caves in my time, and I have heard tell of all manner of ailments arising from them. You shall tell me exactly what went wrong this time, and exactly how often you feel thus, or I will—I will—” He cast about for a suitable threat. “I will tell Arwen what happened to her crown at the state dinner last year!”

Legolas glared at him. “You wouldn’t!”

“Oh yes I would! Now, Elf; speak up! And hold nothing back, or I shall be forced to resort to drastic measures.”

For a moment, they glared at each other across the camp fire. Then Legolas broke their gaze and turned away. “Very well,” he said softly. “If you must know—and apparently you must, to make such a threat—then I am not altogether comfortable in the more confined of the dark spaces through which we occasionally are forced to crawl. That is all. I do not know what happened today,” he lied, “but it has not so struck me before, and I swear it will not again.”

“You are lying to me, Master Elf,” the dwarf rumbled warningly. “Speak the truth, or things will soon go ill.”

Legolas glared at his friend, then sighed. “I was—frightened today. I am not usually so overcome, for we pass the small, black spaces quickly, and I know that there will be light soon. And…” the Elf swallowed. “And I know that I need only stretch out my hand and I will find you before me, leading the way.” He hung his head. “Today, although I knew it was unreasonable, I feared that I had lost you, and that I would not be able to escape the blackness. I am sorry,” he whispered. “I know what you must think of me…”

Gimli reached around the fire to lay a hand on his friend’s arm. “I think that you are my dearest friend,” he said sincerely, “and I am touched that you brave the darkness to walk with me in the beauty your people do not know. I am proud to know such a valiant Elf as you, and prouder still to call you my friend. And I—” the dwarf’s breath caught, and he, too, had to swallow before he could continue, feeling tears sting his eyes. “And I am deeply moved to know that you put such faith in me.” He blinked, feeling his vision swim.

A cool hand laid itself on his. “I know that you would never let me be lost, _elvellon_ ,” the elf said simply.

The two friends sat like that for much of the night as the fire burned to low embers in the darkness.


	5. Promises and Pretense

Gimli was awoken the next morning by a muffled sound of excitement. He groaned. _Why did that boy have to always get up so very, very early?_ The fact that Eldarion had gone to sleep hours before he had, and hadn’t stood a watch, hardly crossed the dwarf’s mind. Then he frowned. He didn’t remember standing a watch, either. While the two of them usually didn’t bother with such things this close to Gondor, when he and Legolas were traveling in the company of Aragorn’s son they were always extra careful. If that dratted elf had “forgotten” to wake him for his watch, he was going to string him up by his braids and tie him to one of his beloved trees.

Legolas saw the threat in Gimli’s eyes as the dwarf sat up and glared at him. Restraining a laugh, he responded with his most innocent look. Gimli’s eyes narrowed; he sent a silent tongue lashing at his friend with his scowl. Legolas smiled and turned away, replying to something Eldarion had said before full consciousness had claimed the dwarf.

“Yes, Eldarion, now that slug-a-bed Gimli is _finally_ awake,” he gave an exaggerated sigh for his companion’s laziness, “we can start breakfast. Perhaps you would be so good as to stir the fire while I fetch water from the stream?”

The boy instantly stopped fidgeting with his bedroll and sprang up. He shouted a gleeful affirmative and began stirring the fire so vigorously that a small shower of sparks joined the smoke on its lazy path. Legolas, pausing only to grab the water-skins, was gone before Gimli could speak.

Grumbling under his breath about foolish, flighty, impossible elves, Gimli began assembling breakfast with Eldarion’s eager assistance. By the time Legolas returned—after a far longer time than it usual took him to get water—the dwarf had mostly forgotten his promise of a tongue-lashing for the night’s watching. He contented himself with another glare, but Legolas pretended to be too distracted by Eldarion’s antics to notice it.

Sighing, Gimli gave up on scowling sense into elves, and settled down on a convenient log to eat his morning meal. It was very peaceful in the woods, sitting around a small fire with a patch of blue between the trees overhead. Eldarion’s light chatter, punctuated every now and then by an elvish laugh or reply, flowed gently over the dwarf. Despite the fact that the lad seemed never to cease talking, his voice was pleasant rather than aggravating. He reminded Gimli of little Peregrin Took with his cheerful inquisitiveness. The dwarf smiled, simply enjoying the gentle morning and agreeable company.

“We can go back to the cave right after breakfast, can’t we?”

“Now Eldarion,” Legolas said gently, “you know we have to break camp first. We can’t simply leave these things sitting around out here while we spend a full day inside the caves. I promised we would go as soon as possible, and we will, but you must be patient.”

“All right,” said Eldarion as graciously as he could manage.

Gimli, having been caught by the words just as he lifted his water-skin to his mouth, finally managed to stop coughing enough to speak. “What?” he asked in a voice that was almost a roar.

“As he did not get to see more than the first room of the cavern, Eldarion wished to return to the cave today.” Legolas looked supremely innocent. “I told him that breakfast much come first, and counseled patience.”

“But you promised we would go,” Gimli accused.

The elf nodded. “Oh please, Uncle Gimli, please?” Eldarion asked, eyes shining with eagerness and anticipation. “I promise to be good! I’ll be on my absolute best behavior the whole time and I’ll be ever so good and—”

Gimli held up a hand, and the boy fell silent. He looked at Legolas sharply. The staring contest was short, and eventually Gimli sighed and gave in. When the two princes were united against him, he had little chance of overcoming them. Eldarion was hard enough to deny under any circumstance (his two uncles spoiled him abysmally, Arwen always complained, but she smiled when she said it). When Legolas got in on things, Gimli might as well not even try—he knew he would loose.

“All right,” the dwarf said at last, trying not to smile too broadly at the squeal of glee Eldarion let out. “But I don’t want us staying there all day. If we bring you back to your parents without a healthy suntan they’ll never let you come with us again, and it’s dark in those caves.” He looked at Legolas, trusting that his friend would understand what he left unsaid.   
The elf nodded and said softly, “I know.” Then his serious mood vanished and he sprang to his feet. “Come, Eldarion, let us prepare the campsite!” The boy scrambled to his feet and the two of them quickly began gathering and packing things up.

Gimli sighed and stood as well; sometimes he felt like the only adult, despite the fact that Legolas was the elder by at least hundreds of years. _Elves!_

* * *  


  
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Gimli muttered anxiously to Legolas as they paused before the entrance to the cave. Eldarion was practically hopping up and down with excitement, and had only restrained himself from rushing in by Legolas’s insistence that the boy re-tie his boots so he wouldn’t trip. The elf, on the other hand, had been eyeing the dark maw somewhat dubiously.

Now he turned to Gimli with his best elf-prince-haughty-Thranduilion-down-the-nose-glare (Éomer and Gimli had named it one night after a suitable amount of ale). Legolas said nothing, just turned and stalked into the cave, head high. Eldarion scrambled to catch up, still knotting the laces on his right boot. Gimli took off after his friend as quickly as he could without actually seeming worried, but fortunately Legolas had had the presence of mind to stop directly within the entrance, where there was still more than enough light to see by.

Gimli glared at the elf, who exuded supreme innocence. Muttering dire curses against his friend’s entire race, the dwarf started into the deeper parts of the cave—one hand on Eldarion’s shoulder, and Legolas’s on his own. Legolas’s hand was a light, steady touch on his shoulder as they walked into the darkness, but Gimli wasn’t fooled.

Just because his friend had had many centuries of elven training to practice being in command of his emotions didn’t mean that he could pull it over on a dwarf.


	6. Sightless and Separated

Eldarion opened his eyes but could see nothing. He was puzzled until he remembered that he was in a cave. But hadn’t there been torches a moment ago? And what was he doing lying down? These rocks really weren’t comfortable bed substitutes. He tried to stand up and found he couldn’t. For some reason, he couldn’t get his legs to listen to him. He attempted to at least sit up, but gave up on that idea. His legs seemed to be stuck under something heavy. Leaning forward as much as he could, the tips of the boy’s fingers brushed rock. What was he doing with his legs _under_ the rocks?

He laid back down, rubbing his pounding head. Where were Uncle Gimli and Uncle Legolas? Why had they left him here all alone? The little boy shivered, suddenly feeling cold. He was alone in the darkness of the cave, and he couldn’t get up. He hoped his uncles came to rescue him before he got scared.

Because it wouldn’t do for the prince of Gondor to be scared. And he wasn’t. Not really. He knew his uncles would be here to save him any minute now. He could be brave until then. This was an adventure! He liked adventures, he really did, so there was no reason to be afraid. He was safe with his uncles. Even though they weren’t here right now. He gulped, trying to see in the pitch black. But it was all right. They’d be here soon. Very, very soon…he hoped.

* * *  


  
Gimli opened his eyes. He saw nothing but darkness, but long years of time spent learning the secrets of caves had given him senses of stone. There was rock close above him, and more rock against his side. He shifted slightly, and felt something pressing down on his shoulder. Trying to estimate whether moving was a good idea or not, he cautiously explored the stone with his hands—or rather, hand, for one arm was caught beneath the rock that lay partially on him. He was thankful for the thick chainmail he nearly always wore, knowing that without it he would be in considerable pain right now. He would hurt as soon as his body caught up with him, he knew, but bruises were preferable to broken bones—and a few cracked ribs never killed anyone, he thought as he drew a particularly painful breath.

Judging that shifting out from under the rock would not start another collapse—it seemed to be a lone piece of stone that had for whatever lucky reason decided that the dwarf was a good spot to rest upon—he summoned his strength and shoved. Gimli gritted his teeth against the pain that flared in his shoulder and managed to push the rock off of him. Muttering curses under his breath, the dwarf stood up, ignoring the protests of his right side. He looked around, but of course, in the pitch blackness, could see nothing.

“Legolas?” he asked, his voice carefully pitched low to carry but not loud enough to disturb fragile stone. “Eldarion?” The was no answer. The dwarf refused to allow himself to think of the myriad of different reasons for the silence. Clamping down tightly on his fears, Gimli started a careful inspection of the rock around him. He had to know if there was danger of another collapse before he could start moving around to search for his friends.

He did his best not to picture them awakening, alone and lost in the darkness, but his thoughts didn’t seem interested in cooperating.

* * *  


  
Legolas opened his eyes. _Opened my eyes? What were my eyes doing closed?_ he thought blearily. He shook his head to try to clear it, and realized immediately that that was a bad idea. Clutching his head, the elf tried to figure out what was going on—and why it was so very, very dark. Then he froze.

A stray thought whispered through the elf’s mind. It had been dimly lit last thing he remembered—firelight flickering off walls of smooth rock. Gimli had been there, as had Eldarion. The boy had been excited about something, he remembered vaguely. In fact, he had started jumping around…and for some reason Gimli had tried to stop him…but why? And where were they now? For that matter, where was he? The throbbing in his head seemed to make it difficult to think properly. Then he remembered: they had been in the cave. They had been in the cave, and then there had been a sudden rumble, and then darkness and sharp pain…then nothing. But that meant…

Legolas looked around wildly, ignoring the protests of his head at the sudden action. A thrill of fear ran through him. He was in a cave. “Gimli?” he whispered softly, ignoring the slight tremble in his voice.

No answer.

“Gimli!” the elf shouted, but only mocking echoes answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so tell me, who actually read chapter four and didn’t groan, thinking, oh, man, now the elf’s gonna get lost in a cave? I didn’t even intend for that to happen; this was just going to be a brief fic on friendship, showing the joys with Eldarion and the deeper stuff with the other two—just a cute little fic. But as soon as I finished typing Legolas’s last line of chapter four, I suddenly knew that this was going to be a much longer fic than I’d originally intended…


	7. Searching

Eldarion strained against the rocks, but succeeded only in tiring himself. Grimly, the boy gritted his teeth and tried to kick, but his legs would not move. He stretched and pushed until they trembled, but he could do little more than wiggle his toes with the weight of rock pressing down on him.

In the innocence of childhood, Eldarion did not think to be grateful that he had not been crushed, and that the rocks were piled in such as way that they were only resting on and restraining him. Instead of falling limp with relief at his close call, the boy frowned in frustration. He knew only that he could not get out, and he did not like it. Digging his small hands into the pebbly, cold floor beneath him, he pushed upwards with his legs with all the might of his young body, but there was not even the faintest sound of shifting.

Panting, the boy relaxed weakly on the hard stone. He did not stop to think that in moving the rocks, he could very well do himself serious injury. He did not stop to think that rocks often supported other, far distant rocks that could come tumbling down at the slightest provocation. He did not burden himself with guilt over causing the collapse, because he did not see the connection between his exuberant jumping and the suddenly avalanche of rock. He did not tremble in fear because he knew his uncles were out there and would be coming for him as soon as they could, and he did not worry for them because Uncle Gimli and Uncle Legolas were invincible. Nothing could hurt them, least of all a cave-in.

No, there was only one simple thought going through the young prince’s mind as he lay alone in the endless, almost physical darkness of the cramped and lonely cave: _Valar_ , he was bored!

 

* * *  


  
Gimli was now confident that the cave-in had been more of a rockslide than an actually collapse, and that it was highly unlikely that there would be a repeat. As long as he could keep Eldarion from jumping on unstable piles, no further problems should arise.

There were more than enough problems already. For starters, he could hardly stop Eldarion from doing anything, as he had no idea where the child was. He also had no idea where Legolas was, and no clue as to their fate. Now sure that the ceiling would not come tumbling down at any loud noises, Gimli had shouted for his friends until his voice was hoarse from dust and strain.

But he had received no answer.

The dwarf cursed himself in every tongue he knew how to do so in—which was quite a few, and often very creative. Éomer in particular could be a bit hot-headed at times. But there weren’t enough words for his stupidity. Why had he taken them into this accursed cave? He should have known better! Neither elves nor children belonged in caves! Had he taken leave of his senses? Aglarond was one thing, but this half-explored maze of caverns was something completely different.

Gimli _knew_ the risks inherent in exploring new underground openings, he knew how to deal with them safely! What had made him think it was a good idea to take an excitable, headstrong human child down here? Especially a part-elf human child! Of course the boy was going to go climbing and jumping all over the place—why hadn’t Gimli thought to test the stability of the rock piles first? He should have _known_ that disrupting those stones was a recipe for disaster! He should have _known_ that the floor was a fragile shelf between them and the lower levels, ready to shatter under the tumbling stones! He _should have known better_ than to bring them in here!

If they were hurt because of him...or worse…

Gimli shook his head, as if trying to drive out the images. He couldn’t dwell on that now. He had to find them. They would be fine; he just had to find them. They had to be close—they _had_ to be! The collapse hadn’t been that large. It was only a small section of floor that had given way underneath the falling rocks. Gimli had thrown small rocks upwards to test it, and the hold overhead was only a few meters across. With some judiciously piled stone—of which there was plenty lying around to work with—it would be easy to clamber out. But the dwarf wasn’t going anywhere without his friends.

Now all he had to do was find them.

He had already cleared a good portion of the lower cave he found himself in of rubble, having piled it against the far wall while he searched. So far, though, he had found nothing. Granted, there was still a lot of rock cutting him off from the other sides of the cave. His friends could very well be beyond those piles. But why had they not answered him? Why had he not even heard a moan? The dwarf shuddered and returned his attention to the heavy stones in front of him.

Gimli did not want to dwell on the possibilities.

* * *  


  
Legolas stood, staring around wildly. He was doing his best not to panic, but had a sinking suspicion that it was a battle he would inevitably loose. Should he stand here and wait for someone to find him, rather than risk wandering into some un-explored part of the caverns where Gimli had never been? But what if Gimli were injured, and unable to search for him? Should he not try to find a way out? A sudden thought chilled the elf even more: what if Eldarion was hurt?

Legolas knew that there was blood in his hair although he could not see it, seeping from a stinging gash on his head—bleeding overmuch, as head wounds always did, but not a serious injury. He was battered and bruised, of course, and he thought perhaps that he had sprained his left ankle, although he could not be sure of the extent of the damage. But he was in relatively good shape for having been in a cave-in—surely better shape than after the last one he had suffered. The elf shuddered at the memory.

But it was not his own injuries that worried him. Rather, it was the thought that if he were hurt, his friends very well could be. Gimli was hardy and used to caves—and Legolas would not allow himself to think that the dwarf was injured—but Eldarion was a child! He had always been carefully sheltered, protected by everyone. King Aragorn and Queen Arwen had trusted their precious son to he and Gimli, and they had failed! Now the boy was lost somewhere in the dark void of this cave, possibly hurt, almost certainly scared.

Legolas would not allow himself to think of the worst possibilities. He was barley keeping the panic that was threatening to overwhelm him from doing so; thinking such dark thoughts about his friends would break the thin control that he had managed to create.

Of course, he had managed to calm himself—well, perhaps “calm” was the wrong word, as he was certainly not calm, but he was at least collected now—only after an initial frantic search. He no longer had the slightest idea where he was, or where to get back to where he had awoken, which would at least have given him somewhere to start from. He had been certain that another cave-in was only seconds away, and the walls were already starting to close in on him. The darkness was so thick it was almost tangible and seemed to rob his lungs of air.

And now he could not even find a wall. He was afraid to step forward and reach for one, for fear of finding only endless blackness, but he knew that he could not simply stand here in the middle of the dark. He had a strange sense of vertigo—very unusual and discomforting to an elf used to near-perfect balance. Mustering what courage he could, Legolas stretched his hands out in front of him and stepped forward cautiously. Rocks slipped and shuffled beneath his feet, but he did not fear tripping on them. Now that he had started, he found it nearly impossible to stop or slow. He knew that in a moment he would be running blindly, and tried desperately to restrain his terror.

Then there was only air beneath his feat.

Air and darkness.


	8. The Pit

Eldarion sighed heavily and tried to shift to a more comfortable position, where the rough floor of the cave would not be poking so pointedly into his back, but it proved impossible with his legs so securely stuck.

He had, so far, run through the numbers one to one thousand in both Westron and Sindarin, and tried to do the same with Rohirric but had only gotten as far as twenty-three before getting confused. He had then sung as much of every elvish song he knew, but it got annoying after a while because he kept finding stray lines that he either skipped or couldn’t find somewhere to insert. Then he had hummed the Rohan chant that Aunt …owyn was teaching him, and then the Dwarven one he always heard Gimli mumble when he thought no one was listening. After that he had run through all the jokes he knew, but they weren’t as funny without someone else to tell them to and laugh with. Then he had pretended his fingers were armies, but since he couldn’t see them it was hard to coordinate the battle. Next he had practiced making faces, but again, that wasn’t much fun without being able to see them. He had even started telling himself the entire history of the War of the Ring that his ada, uncles, and aunt had fought in, but lost the thread of the trail halfway through Moria; it was uncomfortable to speak of Moria and the Balrog and the orcs when he was stuck in a cave.

Not that he was afraid. He just didn’t feel like continuing the story. Besides, he might end up insulting one of the rocks. What if they had a cousin in Moria? That wouldn’t be very polite of him. And he ought to mind his manners. After all, it was their cave. He couldn’t go about insulting his hosts. He wasn’t afraid, he just didn’t want to be rude. That was all. That settled, Eldarion cast about for something else to occupy his mind with. It was boring stuck under the rock. If he could get his legs free, he could go exploring on his own until his uncles showed up, but the rocks prevented that. He strained against them again, just in case they had lightened or moved while he’d been waiting, but apparently they hadn’t because he still couldn’t get out. He sighed again, and crossed his arms tightly across his small chest, pouting in boredom.

Eldarion was running out of things to do. Why weren’t Uncle Gimli and Uncle Legolas here yet? Surely they ought to be along any minute. Eldarion knew that nothing could dare stand against his uncles, and that included this cave. Maybe they were somewhere arguing about which way to go? They could spend hours debating. Eldarion giggled, and started picturing all the arguments his uncles had had.

 _That_ would entertain him for a while…

 

* * *

 

Gimli gingerly probed the edge of the hole with the haft of his axe. He had almost fallen down it, but some ingrained sense of stone acquired over a lifetime spent working with it had warned him at the last moment. The rock had not crumbled when he first stepped on it by mistake, but it was always good to check. Deciding that it would probably hold his weight, and not being in the mood to spend time debating, the dwarf cautiously crept forward. He knelt down and felt the ragged break in the stone with an un-gloved hand. This was a new hole, he decided, probably caused by the recent turmoil in the cave.

He had cleared the small section of cave that he had fallen into, piling the large rocks in a corner to create a crude but stable stair back to the upper level. He had not, however, climbed up it. He now had an egress, but he could not leave—not while the elf and boy were still down here somewhere. And they were down here somewhere, and they would be fine. Sightless in the dark, Gimli had only blind hope to trust to, and he had put all of his faith in it. His friends were fine, he had only to find them.

So Gimli had continued down the dark, rock-scattered, occasionally blocked-off maze of tunnels and openings he had never seen before. Of course, it was dark enough that he could not see them now, but one rarely explored underground with one’s eyes. It was risky to walk them now, but he had no fear for himself. The heavy stone could collapse on his thick, foolish head and he would not protest—just as long as it waited long enough for him to find his friends and get them to safety and light.

Gimli groped blindly at the stone under his feet in the darkness, gathering broken handfuls of rock. There were ways to see without light, and Gimli was well versed in them. He threw a pebble far down the tunnel in which he stood, over where the hole stretched before him, and heard it skitter across the stone on the far side. He threw the next one a little shorter, and heard the same. His next throw took longer to make contact with rock, and the sound came from below. He experimented with a few more pebbles, but it was clear that he would not be jumping across this void. From the noise of the rocks he dropped straight down, it was not a deep hole, but it was far enough down that he would not be able to climb back out without something to stand on or grab hold of. He cursed loudly in the Dwarven tongue and started to turn back the way he had come to explore another tunnel when he heard a faint noise that was instantly familiar.

“Legolas!” the dwarf shouted, then listened anxiously, hands balled in nervous fists. His breathing sounded harsh and loud in the silence. It seemed to stretch on for a painful eternity before it was broken by a soft moan. Not pausing to think, forgetting everything he had ever been taught about safety in caves, he threw himself down the hole.

Every reason why that was a bad idea flashed through Gimli’s mind, but they vanished again as soon as his thick boots touched the stone. He shot upright and yelled again, heedless of precarious rocks and potential dangers. “Legolas!” He heard no response, and began searching frantically on his hands and knees, grabbing at cold, empty rock.

Suddenly he felt a thin arm beneath thinner silk and froze. An exclamation vanished almost silently in his beard. He gently probed the still form for injuries and was rewarded with movement and a hiss of pain when he touched the elf’s shoulder. Two small shadows of light glowed in the darkness as Legolas opened his eyes.

“Gimli?”

His musical voice trembled so much that tears came to Gimli’s eyes. He remembered when Legolas wouldn’t have admitted in front of the dwarf that he would be slightly anxious to face Sauron himself. Now his hand was clenched so tightly around Gimli’s arm that the dwarf knew it would leave bruises. He made no move to loosen the grip, so glad was he to have found his friend alive. The painful grip was more welcome than the sweetest caress to the distraught dwarf. Blinking back tears, he patted the elf awkwardly on the back. They would be all right now.They were together again.

Everything would be all right.


	9. Alone and Together

Eldarion sniffed loudly and blinked as hard as he could. He was _not_ going to cry. He was _not_. He would be brave like ada and not cry. He wasn’t sad, and you only cried when you were sad—not when you were scared. Because he wasn’t scared. Or lonely. Or worried. Or cold.

But more than anything, he _wasn’t_ frightened. Not at all. He squirmed again, and groaned. He felt very stiff and uncomfortable, and his head was starting to ache. But he wasn’t going to cry. He would be brave, and when Uncle Legolas and Uncle Gimli got here they would be proud of him. And then they would tell ada and he would be proud of him, and ada would tell nana and nana would hug him and put him on her lap and sing to him and tell him how brave he had been and everything was all right now and—

A fat tear rolled slowly down Eldarion’s grimy cheek, leaving a wet trail that didn’t show in the pitch darkness. He swallowed hard and sniffed, but the tear was soon followed by another. He missed his naneth and adar. And he was cold. And he was lonely. And he was worried. And he was definitely _not_ frightened.

Not one bit.

“Nana,” he whimpered, a lost whisper in the darkness. Wrapping his arms around his head, Eldarion started to cry. He cried until, exhausted, he at last fell asleep, small hand curled close to his face—but not actually sucking his thumb.

Because he wasn’t scared. Not at all.

 

* * *  


  
“I’m sorry,” Legolas whispered, pulling away slightly from the dwarf and forcing his fear beneath the surface again. He tried to summon the ragged shreds of his dignity and self-control, but it was difficult to do in the darkness, even with Gimli here to anchor him.

“What’s that, lad?”

Legolas had to smile; Gimli had started calling him that to gall him on the Fellowship’s journey—after all, he was only a few thousand years older than the dwarf—now he used it whenever he wanted to annoy or, in this case, distract the Elf. But no distraction, however well-meant or welcome, changed his behavior. “I am sorry for my actions. They were unbefitting to us both—”

“Nonsense,” Gimli cut him off shortly. “Now, let’s see how badly you’re hurt,” he continued before Legolas could protest. “I believe there was some damage to your shoulder?”

Legolas sighed. The dwarf wasn’t going to allow him to apologize, at least not until he was satisfied with his physical condition. “Ay,” he responded, resigning himself, “I have wrenched it somehow. Some torn muscles, I believe; nothing serious.”

Gimli _harrumphed_ , as if to say “we’ll see about that,” and started probing at the injured area with surprisingly gentle fingers. Legolas let out a hiss of pain before he could restrain himself, and Gimli froze instantly, pulling his hands away.

“I’m fine,” Legolas snapped a little harder than he meant to. But he hated feeling helpless, and he hated being “coddled” (as he and Aragorn termed it in disgust) when he was perfectly capable of handling whatever injuries his body had decided to accumulate _this_ time.

Gimli, used to this reaction, just chuckled. “Of course you are,” he agreed. “Now let me see it.” Legolas gritted his teeth and allowed the dwarf to continue his ministrations. This time it was Gimli’s turn to hiss. The shoulder seemed worse than the elf had said—why was he not surprised? Legolas, underestimating an injury? The dwarf shook his head and carefully prodded the elf’s shoulder. He was no healer, and it was difficult to tell in the pitch black exactly how bad it was, but there was definite swelling.

A few minutes of some rather painful examinations later, they came to the conclusion that the elf’s right shoulder was not dislocated, just badly wrenched and torn, as he had said. He had cracked at least two ribs and done _something_ —they weren’t sure exactly what or to what degree—to his left ankle. He maintained that he was perfectly fit to walk on it, and Gimli knew that he would do so no matter how it pained him. He also knew that if he were too overly attentive to Legolas’s injuries, the elf would turn around and demand a full account of his own hurts. They were minor, and the dwarf intended to ignore them until they were safely out of the caves. Of course, he was not about to let the elf do the same, and he was fully willing to take advantage of the situation created by the darkness that threw off his friend in order to avoid examining his own injuries.

Gimli patted his friend’s uninjured shoulder, and paused. He brought his hand to his nose and sniffed: _blood_. The elf was bleeding? Gimli’s eyes narrowed. In a voice that was more an imitation of a Warg’s growl than actual speech, he asked, “and just what have you been hiding?”

Although he could see only the faintest shadow of light from his friend’s eyes in the endless darkness, he knew him well enough to sense the innocent and confused expression crossing the elf’s face. He also knew that Legolas knew _him_ well enough to sense the scowl he was directing at him.

“I truly do not know what you mean,” Legolas said with sincerity. After a moment, Gimli decided that he was genuinely unaware of his meaning, which worried him. If the elf did not even know that he was bleeding…

Hiding his worry as best he could, Gimli anxiously searched for the wound with his fingers. Legolas pulled away from him, protesting. “I have no other hurts, Master Dwarf! Come, we must be on our way!”

“No other hurts?” Gimli repeated impatiently. “Then why is there blood upon your shoulder?”

The slight movement of the faint glow of his eyes and the faint sound of pale hair sliding along silk told the dwarf that Legolas had tilted his head to the side in thought. “Blood upon my shoulder?” he asked, likely inspecting it himself. When he spoke next, there was a smile in his voice. “Ay, and in my hair as well. When it dries, it will be most amusing to get out. But it is no cause for concern, my friend; ‘tis but a slight cut.”

“That’s an awful lot of blood for a ‘slight cut,’” growled Gimli, unconvinced.

He felt Legolas shrug. “It is a head wound. They always bleed more than is necessary,” he said simply, obviously feeling that it merited no further discussion. “But come,” he went on then, “how fares Eldarion? Is the lad unscathed from his experience?”

Gimli shifted uncomfortably, his armor clinking the sounds of his discomfort. Legolas’s sharp eyes narrowed on the dwarf he could not see, suspicion so strong it was practically foreknowledge.

“You have not found him,” he said accusingly. His friend gave no answer, but seemed ill at ease. “Gimli,” Legolas exclaimed, “you mean to tell me that the boy is lost somewhere in the caves, and we know not even what condition he is in? What if he is injured? And we have been sitting here—dithering!” The elf leapt to his feet, and his eyes seemed to flash even in the darkness.

He heard Gimli scrambling to his feet next to him. The dwarf sounded pained, as if he was only now aware of what had been done. “I—I am sorry, I know not what came over me,” he admitted awkwardly. “In my fear for you, all other considerations seemed driven from my mind.”

Touched, Legolas laid a hand briefly on his friend’s shoulder. “Come,” he said urgently, “we must find him! Quickly, how did you get into this pit? We must climb back up!”

Gimli did not answer for a moment. “I, uh,” he muttered reluctantly, “I jumped.”

Legolas’s voice was completely neutral. “You jumped.” Gimli nodded, forgetting that it was too dark to see, but the elf sensed his movement. “I see.” The dwarf could feel himself blushing, and was suddenly thankful that the blackness hid it. “And I suppose you gave no thought to how you would get back out?”

“I was…less than logical,” the dwarf replied gruffly. He was reluctant to admit just how worried he had been, even to his friend. “My thoughts were not exactly on the most prudent course of action.”

“Fortunately, I believe that it is not to high for an elf, insurmountable though it must seem to lesser races,” Legolas said with forced levity. Their minds were both writhing with fear for the child, and the darkness was beginning to press in upon the elf. He was clinging to their banter as a drowning man will clutch at driftwood.

“I’ll give you lesser races, Elf,” Gimli growled, but his heart was not in it. Rather, his heart was in a painful lump trying to strangle him from within his throat. He shook his head, focusing on what needed to be done rather than on the reasons for their action. “It is not the fault of the dwarves that we are stable and solid creatures, not given to foolish, weightless thoughts, as are the flighty elves. Fly, then, Elf, and show that your empty head is good for something.”

There was a light patter of falling rock dust that told Gimli his friend had already caught the edge. He strained his eyes in the darkness, but could not make out the form of his friend. Had his injured ankle supported him in the jump? Would his ribs impede swinging onto the stable stone? Would his swollen shoulder prove an impediment?

Apparently not, or at least nothing insurmountable, for moments later the light voice called down to him. “Come, Master Dwarf, leap for my voice! I shall pull you up so that you may climb out of this pit.”

“You had best not dare use your injured arm for this,” Gimli warned him sourly. He did not like the dependent position he was put in—dwarves were proud creatures, after all—but thoughts of Eldarion drove all less important considerations from his mind. He leaped, and his fingers seemed to brush those of Legolas for a moment, but not enough for either to catch onto the other’s hand.

“Again!” Legolas commanded. Gimli was already back on his feet and repositioning himself, this time paying more attention to where the elf’s voice was coming from. He was talented at locating things by their echoes, and that combined with the almost-imagined glimmer of elvish eyes pointed out where Legolas was crouched at the lip of the hole. The dwarf launched himself as high as he could, and felt his friend’s strong hand latch onto his wrist.

Using Gimli’s momentum, Legolas pulled back; he was stretched out halfway into the pit, and it took all his balance skills not to tumble back into it with the sudden added weight. He ignored the protests of his injured shoulder and ribs as he hauled the dwarf to the lip of stone. Gimli caught it and hauled himself up with the elf balancing him in the darkness.

Gimli scowled. “You used both arms,” he accused.

“Hurry,” Legolas said, ignoring him, “we must find Eldarion! Where have you searched?”

Agreeing that the boy was by far the more important thing right now, Gimli let it lie and dragged his friend after him into the darkness to find the missing prince. With the grace of the Valar, they would not be too late…


	10. Voices in the Dark

“Eldarion!” Gimli shouted again, listening hard as the echoes faded, unanswered. He sighed, and the two friends continued trudging on in the darkness of the maze-like tunnels. They pressed close upon the companions, and Gimli worried in the corner of his mind unoccupied with fear for the boy how the elf was doing. Legolas seemed to be in control, but Gimli knew from long experience with the elf that it could very well be just an elaborate act. In the darkness, he could not see his friend’s expressions to puzzle out his mood. But the dwarf also knew that no matter what he said, the elf would never acquiesce to leaving Gimli to search on his own while he fled to the comfort and safety of the open air.

“We should split up,” Legolas repeated insistently, breaking into the dwarf’s thoughts.

Gimli shook his head stubbornly, as he had the past five times the elf had suggested it. “As I have now said enough times to have pounded it into even your flighty skull, Master Elf, that would create more problems than solve.”

“We could cover more ground faster.”

“Ay,” Gimli agreed with a snort, “and then when one of us found the lad, he would have to try to find the other, lost somewhere in these confounding tunnels.” The dwarf was getting fed up; he was impressed that Legolas would have the courage to wander alone through the dark warren, even for Eldarion, but that it was a _brave_ idea did not necessarily mean it was a _good_ idea. “That would waste even more time, and if we wonder in opposite directions…”

He did not want to frighten his friend, but he had to somehow convince Legolas of the dangers inherent in separating. If that meant the he had to scare him a little, he did not like it, but he would do it. “Besides,” he said quickly, not wanting his friend to dwell on his last comment, even if it had been necessary, “Eldarion may be difficult to reach, and it could well require the both of us to extricate him.”

He heard Legolas sigh with frustration behind him, and grinned. “And where has the legendary patience of the elves gone?” he teased his friend, trying to keep their spirits up in the darkness.

“It has been smothered by this rock,” Legolas snapped back.

Gimli fell silent, and the proceeded down the confining tunnel without words. He had wanted only to lighten their spirits, not draw a shadow upon his friend by reminding the elf of how difficult it was to be down here.

“I am sorry,” Legolas apologized after a space. “I did not mean to be so harsh. The cave…presses on me; I did not speak falsely, it truly has sapped my patience.”

“I know,” Gimli replied softly. “I am sorry to have made light of it.”

“Then as we are both most sorry creatures indeed, perhaps we could put it from our minds,” Legolas suggested with a much lighter tone of voice.

Gimli smiled slightly. “Perhaps even elves can occasionally show wisdom,” he admitted.

“And perhaps even dwarves can occasionally recognize it.”

Gimli grinned; he had succeeded in spite of himself in cheering his friend, it seemed. Pleased with himself, the dwarf continued forward with a slightly faster step. As long as they could find Eldarion soon—he forced himself to continue ignoring his worry for the young prince; if he thought about his fears, he would loose the concentration and calmness so necessary to his endeavor—they would be all right.

He swallowed; _Aulë, let the boy be unharmed_ , Gimli silently pleaded.

* * *  


  
Eldarion woke to throbbing pain. He groaned and instantly regretted it as the pain in his head spiked for a moment. He started shivering, although the movement aggravated his headache almost as much as his moan had. It was so cold! He wrapped his arms tightly around himself, trying not to let his teeth chatter—he had a feeling that would be painful for his aching skull.

The boy closed his eyes (not that it made a difference in this darkness) and tried to center himself as his father had taught him. Eldarion was an apt pupil, but his lessons were only in the beginning stages and were never intended to handle such a situation—not yet. He breathed slowly and evenly, as adar had taught him, listening only to the soft sound the air made as he inhaled and exhaled. He frowned slightly; something wasn’t right. Why was he repeating his name? That wouldn’t help. Adar had never told him that it would help him to—

The boy’s eyes shot open and he tried to shoot to his feet but the rocks on his legs, forgotten in excitement, prevented him. _He_ wasn’t repeating his name; someone else was! It was so faint he could hardly hear it, even with his exceptionally sharp ears, but he knew it had to be his uncles.

“Uncle Legolas!” he screamed as loud as he could, trusting that elven hearing would have no problem catching his voice if he could make out theirs. “I’m here! Uncle Legolas! Uncle Gimli! I’m here!” He listened closely, straining his ears, but could hear no answering call. He held his breath; they _had_ to have heard him—they _had_ to!

* * *  


  
Suddenly Legolas stopped, his hand slipping free of the dwarf’s shoulder. Gimli turned to scold him, but the elf pressed a hand to his friend’s lips to keep him silent. He closed his eyes—it made no difference in the darkness, but it helped him concentrate—and listened. There it was again!

“Gimli, I hear him!”

“What? Where?” the dwarf exclaimed.

“This way,” Legolas cried, grabbing Gimli’s hand to pull him after him. “Hurry!”

“Wait—Legolas—you don’t know where you’re going—” he tried to protest.

“Eldarion!” Legolas called, ignoring his friend. “We hear you! We’re coming!”

* * *  


  
Eldarion sagged with relief. He couldn’t make out words exactly, but he had heard the cry. “I’m over here! Uncles! Over here!” He continued to shout, knowing his friends would need something to follow to find him, but he hardly felt his head’s protests at the noise.

He’d _known_ everything would be fine. Legolas and Gimli would be here soon. His uncles would never let anything happen to him.


	11. We Are Coming

Suddenly Legolas stopped, his hand slipping free of the dwarf’s shoulder. Gimli turned to scold him, but the elf pressed a hand to his friend’s lips to keep him silent. He closed his eyes—it made no difference in the darkness, but it helped him concentrate—and listened. There it was again!

“Gimli, I hear him!”

“What? Where?” the dwarf exclaimed.

“This way,” Legolas cried, grabbing Gimli’s hand to pull him after him. “Hurry!”

“Wait—Legolas—you don’t know where you’re going—” he tried to protest.

“Eldarion!” Legolas called, ignoring his friend. “We hear you! We are coming!”

  
* * *  


  


  


Eldarion sagged with relief. He couldn’t make out words exactly, but he had heard the cry. “I’m over here! Uncles! Over here!” He continued to shout, knowing his friends would need something to follow to find him, but he hardly felt his head’s protests at the noise.

He’d known everything would be fine. Legolas and Gimli would be here soon. His uncles would never let anything happen to him.  


  
* * *  


  


  


“Here, Gimli!” Legolas exclaimed excitedly, pressing a sharply pointed ear against the rough rock. “Eldarion, we are here!” he called. “Do not worry!”

“Is he all right?” Gimli asked anxiously.

Legolas held up a hand that his friend could not possibly see in the darkness to silence him, but they had been so close for so long that the actual gesture was not needed so much as the intention of it; they could nearly sense the other’s movements. “Eldarion,” Legolas shouted through the thick rock, “are you harmed?”

“No,” came the muffled response. “I’m just stuck!” Frustration was evident in the child’s voice. Legolas could not help the shiver of fear that ran through him. What would it feel like to be alone in the dark, unable to move to seek for help? It was likely good for them all that the boy had not been able to wander, but to be in that situation…and when so young… The Elf firmly shook such thoughts from his head.

“He says he is unharmed,” Legolas reported tightly to the dwarf waiting anxiously at his side, “but he is ‘stuck’ there.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Gimli growled. Legolas could hear the dwarf pull something determinedly from his belt and step forward, tensing to swing at the wall.

“Wait,” Legolas caught his friend’s wrist unerringly in the blackness. “If you bring the wall down—”

The elf could sense the scathing glare directed at him. “Listen, Elf,” the dwarf bristled, “I am not about to fell the entire wall. First, this is good, solid stone we are standing in. Secondly, the rock between the lad and us is quite thick. Third, I am going to chip away at it carefully until I have made a hole large enough for us to crawl though, and I am going to listen and stop far before there is the slightest possibility of danger. So leave caves to those who know them.” Gimli pulled his hand free, but the elf did not step back. He could feel the half-imagined glimmer of eyes on him.

Gimli shifted self-consciously under the strong gaze. “What?” he snapped.

“That will take forever!” Legolas exclaimed.

“Have you a better plan?” he asked grumpily. Legolas could tell that his friend already knew what he was telling him, and was frightened at the thought of how much time he really would have to spend at it, but knew of no other way to reach the boy.

“Ay,” said Legolas with a slight smile. “We go over it.”

There was silence for a moment while Gimli gaped. “What madness is this?” he blurted out at last.

“If Eldarion fell in, as we did, then surely the hole will still be there. I cannot fathom why we did not think of this earlier—but all we need do is return to the broken upper level and find the proper opening through which to drop!”

Silence fell again and Gimli looked at his friend sadly. “Legolas…” he said, but his voice failed him. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Legolas. My friend…it is more than likely that the hole we seek will not even be accessible. Most of the floor has crumbled; that is why we find such rubble down here.” He feared that his friend was reaching the end of his endurance in this dark cavern. “But then again,” he said after a moment of deep thought, “perhaps you are right. You shall return and search for the opening, while I begin the work down here—just in case. Light the torches that are still scattered somewhere up there so that you will be able to avoid falling down any more pits. Here, I shall lead you back so you do not get lost—”

A hand on his shoulder cut the dwarf off. “Gimli,” Legolas said firmly, “cease. I am not going to break because of the cave. Do not coddle me.” The elf’s eyes flashed a moment, two spots of harsh light in the black gloom.

They stared sightlessly at one another, eyes centered on faces invisible in the dark through long association and familiarity. At last, Gimli heaved a heavy sigh. “I am not trying to ‘coddle you,’ my friend,” he said softly. “I am simply worried for you.”

Legolas’s hand tightened in thanks, wordlessly expressing his understanding. “I know,” he replied in a whisper. “But I will be all right. It is Eldarion whom we now need fear for. He is found, but we have yet to _find_ him.”

“And that has me worried as well, and no doubt on edge,” Gimli admitted sourly. “I truly have no idea how we are going to get the child out of there…”

A swift flutter of fingers against his lips stilled his words and he waited, ears straining to catch whatever it was Legolas had heard—or sensed, or whatever it was that the elf had done for his attention to be so suddenly ensnared.

“Gimli,” when Legolas spoke again his voice was a gasp of barely contained excitement. “There is a way in! I can hear it—Eldarion’s words come not only through the rock, but down the tunnel, as well!”

“What? Where?” Gimli started forward, stumbling into the elf in his haste.

“This way,” Legolas breathed anxiously, again grabbing Gimil’s hand to tug the dwarf after him. “Eladrion,” he called to the boy, “we are coming for you!” They flew down the tunnel together, only barely keeping from stumbling over rubble that the elf’s senses dodged just in time. “We are coming little one,” he whispered to himself. “Hold on.”

Gimli could not bring his suddenly dry mouth to echo the words, but he repeated them in his heart.

 _We are coming. We are coming. Hold on. We are coming…_


	12. Fine

Eldarion listened anxiously, chewing on his lip. There had been silence for some time, but his uncles had said they were coming, and he believed them. He just wished that they could come a little bit _faster_. It was so cold, and every time he shivered his head throbbed. He had grown quite stiff trapped immobile under the rocks as he was, and his limbs were beginning to ache.

He must have closed his eyes for a moment, because suddenly he felt a soft touch on his arm and started. He could not see when his eyes flashed open, but he became aware of a strange grinding sound echoing oddly in the small enclosure.

“Eldarion?” a light voice breathed in his ear.

“Uncle Legolas!” the boy cried, awkwardly wrapping his arms as best he could around the elf crouched by his side. It was difficult since he did not know exactly where Legolas was, and he could not move his lower body.

“Hush, Eldarion, we are here,” the elf reassured him, adjusting the child’s hold on his waist.

“Uncle Gimli?” the boy asked in a tremulous voice, sensing only one being near him.

“He is enlarging the gap in the rock which I crawled through. It was, unfortunately, not of a size suitable for our dwarven friend’s broad shoulders. I fear he has found too great a fondness for food since travelling with hobbits…” There was a muttered dwarven curse at that which made Eldarion laugh. “That is the source of the scraping sounds and grumbles that are now assaulting your ears,” Legolas finished lightly.

“Oh,” said Eldarion, and he fell silent for a moment, listening.

“Tell me lad,” the elf asked then, “are you hurt?”

“No,” the boy replied. “I just can’t move my legs. They’re pinned under the rock.”

He could feel the elf tense sharply. “Where? Guide my hand, that I might feel it.” Legolas’s voice was tight and strained, although he seemed to be trying to keep it calm. Eldarion did as told, taking his uncle’s hand in his own and leading it towards the stone that trapped him. He felt the elf flinch slightly when he touched the cold rock.

“Are you in any pain?” Legolas’s voice was calm, but slightly higher than usual; it reminded Eldarion of the way his mother’s voice changed pitch when she was smiling at someone she didn’t like or pretending that she wasn’t sad when she read letters from her _daeradar_ about Lothlórien.

“No, I’m just stuck. And I am a little stiff,” the boy admitted with a slight wince. He didn’t know how long he’d been lying there, but it was long enough that his legs had cramped up and gone numb.

“We shall soon have you free,” the elf assured him.

“I know you will,” Eldarion replied, voice full of trust. His uncles were here now. They would make everything all right again. He hugged Legolas and laughed. “Hurry up, Uncle Gimli!” the boy shouted gleefully. “You’re late again!”

Eldarion couldn’t make out his uncle’s response, but he giggled at the furious tone of the mutters over the grinding sound of the rock being chipped away. Fear forgotten, the child settled down to wait happily in the dark cave, now just another fun adventure with his favorite uncles.

* * *  


  
At last Gimli broke through enough of the rocky barricade that he could squirm through. While Legolas was by far the taller, Gimli’s shoulders were much broader than the slim, nimble elf, and the tiny hole had only admitted Legolas though sheer force of the prince’s will. The dwarf could hear his chainmail scraping on the edges, but he gritted his teeth against the shrill noise—hoping absently that Legolas would think to cover his sensitive elvish ears—and forced himself through.

Panting, the dwarf rose from the undignified heap that he had landed in when he tumbled out of the opening. He rubbed his shoulder, which was throbbing in protest at his exertions as well as at being landed on. He ignored that, as well as the tightness of his ribs, looking for his friends. Of course, he could see nothing. “Legolas?” he called, “Eldarion?” Worry racing through his veins, Gimli started forward, staring wildly into the darkness.

“Peace, Gimli,” came a steadying voice through the black. A faint glimmer of almost-imagined starlight, somehow misplaced into the smothering cave, shone as the elf turned his eyes towards him. “We are here. Eldarion is unharmed, but he cannot get free of the stones upon him.” A slight tremor of tension ran thickly through Legolas’s carefully calm tones. Gimli was unsure whether it was simply the elf’s reaction to his unwelcome location, or if it was worry for the boy.

Stumbling forward anxiously, Gimli ran into the rocks that the elf had been speaking of. He cursed loudly—fortunately in dwarven, which neither prince spoke—and rubbed his knee.

“How long do you think it will take to get me free, Uncle Gimli?” Eldarion’s light tone piped up. Although it was hoarse and strained it still contained the innocent trust of childhood. He did not ask whether it would be difficult, or doable, or painful, or the host of other questions that were chasing each other fearfully through the dwarf’s skull. He trusted in his uncles completely to free him; it was a foregone conclusion that they would keep him safe, even after Gimli had failed to protect him from the cave. Tears came to the dwarf’s eyes as he dropped to his knees next to the prone boy, and fortunately the darkness hid them so that he would not need to pretend that they were in protest to the injury he had just received.

“Soon, lad,” Gimli said roughly, patting the child’s shoulder awkwardly. “Soon.”

“Oh, good,” Eldarion replied happily. “It’s getting kind of uncomfortable,” he confided softly. “I’m glad you found me.” There was no accusation in the child’s tones, no reprimand for either risking his life nor in taking so long to get to him. A small hand grasped his in the dark. “Don’t worry. Everything’s all right now.”

The dwarf swallowed against a suddenly thick throat. “Ay, lad,” he said to the darkness. “Ay, that it will be,” Gimli promised softly. He could see Legolas nod in firm agreement by the shift of elven eyes.

 _If I have to beat it out of the Valar one by one personally, I promise you everything will be fine_ , the dwarf vowed silently to the child. You _will be fine._


	13. Partings

There was a deep grinding sound, as if the very bones of the earth were shifting. It was broken by a muffled cry in a much lighter, softer tone. Suddenly the scraping ceased, and there was a sound of a flurry of movement as elf and dwarf threw themselves down next to the small human prince.

"Ai, Eldarion! What is the hurt?"

"Lad! Are you all right?"

Their voices, trembling with fear, fell over each other as they echoed in the dark cave.

"Yes," the boy said after a moment. "But now it’s pinching me. It’s really heavy," he added with slightly strained tone. The atmosphere in the cave abruptly tensed, and there was a fearful silence for a long moment.

"We need light," Gimli at last said gruffly.

Legolas nodded, although the motion could not be seen. "The torches should still be in the main chamber. Think you that the higher level is still reachable?"

"Ay," the dwarf replied. "I piled the rubble in a staircase while I was digging for you two."

"And have you still your flint and tinder?"

"Of course I do!" Gimli responded, offended.

"I suggest you bring a few of the torches. Four, perhaps."

"Well of course I’m not going to just bring one. I, at least, have more sense than an El—wait." Gimli’s mocking tone abruptly fell to that of suspicion. "And why, exactly, would you need to tell me this _now_ , and instruct _me_ in it? Will you not be there to carry your share?"

"Nay," Legolas said quietly, dimly glowing eyes locking sharply on Gimli invisible in the darkness in front of him. "Obviously, as any creature save a dwarf would see instantly," he continued in a forcefully light tone, "we need the torches to extricate Eldarion. As such, I shall be staying with him until you return."

"In the—alone? But—you—" Gimli stuttered.

"Nay," Legolas said sternly, "with Eldarion."

"You don’t need to wait with me, Uncle Legolas," the child piped up. "I’m not scared."

"I know you are not," the Elf said softly. "But I have no desire to go traipsing through these tunnels needlessly. Even our Master Dwarf can manage to find his way back to the point of collapse and return with light, I am sure. It is, after all, not a difficult task, and should not be, shall we say, _above_ his reach."

Eldarion tried unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle, but Gimli could not manage to summon a suitable glare or growl to turn on his friend. "Will you be all right?" he asked quietly.

"Of course!" Legolas replied brightly. "Eldarion has already said that he is not afraid, Gimli. Did you not hear him?"

Gimli sat for a long moment, staring at the faint points of light that marked where the elf’s eyes were. Then his shoulders slumped in resignation, and he levered himself to his feet. "Very well," the dwarf whispered through a tight throat. He waited, as if for an answer, but the princes were silent. Gimli sighed heavily and turned away. "Eldarion, lad, may I borrow your uncle for a moment? He will return shortly."

"Of course," the boy answered quickly. "I’m not scared."

"Good lad," Gimli said with a smile.

"Gimli, I really don’t see—" Legolas began, but the dwarf cut him off.

"Nor do the rest of us, but that is because there is no light. Now come, I just want a word." Gimli groped in the darkness a moment before catching hold of his friend’s arm. He dragged the protesting elf to his feet and pulled him away from the child.

"What do you think you are doing?" he hissed as soon as they were out of hearing.

"We cannot leave the boy here alone! Gimli, are you mad?" the elf whispered back sharply.

"Nay, but you could well be! Sitting here alone in the cave—"

"I will not be alone," the elf interrupted. "Eldarion is here. Which, need I remind you, must be remedied soon. We have no idea how injured he is, and we must get him free as soon as possible. To do that, we need light, which you must fetch. You know the way to the surface, and can navigate these tunnels. I cannot. Were I to go, I would soon become hopelessly lost. Therefore, it must be you. And not only would it slow you down to watch over me were I to accompany you, but far worse, the child would be here _alone_.

"Alone, Gimli." Legolas’s voice fell so quiet that the dwarf had to strain to hear it, although they stood so close they were touching. "Can you imagine what it must have been like for the child? Lost, unable to move, alone and trapped—" he choked and fell silent. Getting a hold of himself, the elf continued. "Nay, Gimli, we cannot leave him back to solitude. I shall stay with him, and you shall go."

"Legolas," Gimli said huskily, then stopped. He could think of no words. Reaching up, he squeezed his friend’s uninjured shoulder. "You are very brave."

The elf gave a short laugh, somewhat bitter. "Nay, Gimli, I am terrified. But that does not mean that I shall give in to my fear. We must hold on. I know that you will find us again, _elvellon_. Do not fear, for either me or the boy. But do hurry," he said, changing the subject. "I like not leaving him pinned so long."

"Nor do I," the dwarf agreed. "My heart misgives me, and I can feel only fear for him—and you."

"I shall be fine," Legolas whispered softly. "Go. Please."

Gimli nodded, throat too tight to speak, and gave his friend’s shoulder a last, hopefully reassuring grip. Clearing his throat, he spoke loudly enough that Eldarion too could hear his words. "I shall return with speed enough to put the chase of the Three Hunters to shame," he vowed before turning and—with a few forced grumbles and insults traded with the elf as Legolas helped shove him through the small hole—departed, leaving his friends alone in the darkness.

Legolas watched the sightless blackness until Gimli’s hurried footsteps had faded from his sharp ears. Then, with a sigh and a slight shiver, he walked back to Eldarion and knelt beside the boy. "How do you fare?" he asked softly, gently smoothing sweaty hair on a chill brow. The boy winced, then relaxed into the soothing touch.

"I’m fine," he said defiantly, proudly. "Are you all right?"

Legolas smiled. So like his father, this little one. Always trying to be strong, always concerned for those around him. "Yes, _mellon nin_ , I am fine," he replied. "And you are very brave."

"Truly, Uncle?" the child asked, voice lighting up almost enough to drive back the darkness.

"Truly, Eldarion."

A small hand found his and held tightly. " _Hannon le_ ," the boy whispered happily.

It was almost enough…

Almost.


	14. Echoes and Memories

Gimli’s ears were filled with the sound of his heavy breathing and heavier footsteps as he raced through the black tunnels. He had lost count of the number of tumbles he had taken, for he ran at a reckless pace too fast for even a dwarf to manage in unfamiliar caves without sight. But he could neither stop nor slow. His friends were waiting for him. The lad Eldarion might well be hurt grievously, and needed free of those rocks. And Legolas—

Gimli did not want to think of what his Elven friend must be enduring in the enclosing darkness he had left him in. Why had he ever made that foolish deal about Fangorn and Aglarond in the first place? He knew that Elves were not meant for caves, Wood Elves least of all. He had come to determine over the course of their friendship that Legolas was a claustrophobic in denial, but he had never before known that it was as powerful a fear as it really was. And now…

Now he had left the Elf in the darkness. He had failed his friend. He should never have dragged him into that first cave, let alone the numerous caverns after that.

And then to bring the boy! What had he been thinking? Taking an elvish-blooded child into caves? He must have lost his mind at last! And now the lad—the precious child that Aragorn and Arwen had trusted to their care—was trapped under crushing rock and stone in a lightless pocket of rubble. He was a fool; he should never have brought them here in the first place. If either of them were scared from this experience…

The echoes of his footsteps were loud in Gimli’s ears, reproachments thundering behind him, inescapable no matter how fast he ran…

* * *  


  
“Uncle?”

“Yes, Eldarion?”

“Do you think Uncle Gimli will be long?”

Legolas swallowed hard in the darkness. Using every ounce of control he possessed, he forced his voice to be light and cheerful. “Nay, I am sure that he will run with all haste—likely too must haste,” he grumbled under his breath, frowning at the thought of that fool dwarf injuring himself. “Well,” he amended with forced levity, “with as much haste as a dwarf can manage, that is. They are, after all, slow and clumsy creatures, and not made for anything requiring either speed or grace.” The child giggled and Legolas almost smiled. “Why?” he asked then, half-smile chased away by fear. Was Eldarion in pain, or…?

“Well,” the boy shifted slightly in the elf’s lap, “I…” He was probably chewing on his lip. The child did that whenever he had to confess anything he did not want to, and from the tone of his voice, that was what he was steeling himself to do. Legolas waited patiently, lightly stroking the small, sweaty forehead. Eldarion sighed heavily, then continued. “I’m bored,” he admitted reluctantly.

Legolas chuckled. It was a weak, tremulous laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. Only Eldarion’s strange, childish mix of unquenchable optimism and pragmatism could make him find humor in such a bleak situation. _Well_ , he thought, _there is always Gimli, but our jests in battle are more of a black humor attempting to keep spirits up forcibly, not accidentally. Really, counting the number of beings one killed and attempting to slaughter more than your friend? Even if they_ were _orcs, that is a tad sadistic…_

“I am most grieved to hear it, young prince,” he answered Eldarion seriously. “I am sure that, were Gimli aware of your ennui, he would hasten his steps even more, rest assured. In the meantime, I promise that I shall do my best to keep you occupied.”

Eldarion squirmed with excitement, then winced as his legs shifted uncomfortably against the rock. Legolas tightened his grip comfortingly on the boy’s shoulder and smoothed damp hair from grey eyes. The child relaxed, then looked up at the uncle he could not see in the blackness. “Will you tell me a story?” he asked eagerly. “About one of you and Uncle Gimli’s adventures?”

Legolas pretended to think hard. “Hmm,” he said slowly, “I suppose I could try to remember one or two… There aren’t that many to choose from, what with how much Gimli detests anything remotely daring, you know,” he teased the child. “I think you have already heard all of the exciting ones, but I may be able to dredge up some vague memories of something faintly interesting…”

Eldarion laughed happily and settled into the elf’s safe embrace. Then he perked up again. “Uncle Legolas, could you tell me one with ada in it?”

“Of course,” replied the elf, casting his mind about for a suitable story. _Ah, that will do._ “Well,” Legolas began, “shortly after your adar was crowned, he was feeling a little stifled by his new responsibilities. Gimli, in his _infinite_ wisdom, suggested that al he needed was a short vacation to remind him of his former life as a Ranger. We—or rather I; the dwarf has no concept of stealth or subtlety—aided Aragorn in sneaking away from his guards…”

Legolas immersed himself in the memories, where there was light and air. He was as desperate to distract himself from their plight as he was the boy from his boredom. He clung tightly to the memory of light, a thin thread of life snaking frailly through the suffocating darkness that pressed in upon them from all sides…


	15. Darkness, Reprise

Eldarion’s bright laughter rang happily through the dark, suffocating cave. For a moment, it chased away the shadows, but it seemed to Legolas that they returned all too quickly. The lad, on the other hand, appeared to be perfectly content.

“Oh, uncle, truly? I cannot believe that ada would be so silly!”

“Well,” the Elf amended, “most of the blame ought to lie with Éomer, as it was in truth his idea. But ay, little one, you adar can indeed be that silly and more so. When you visit Rohan with him, you will be able to decide for yourself.”

“Do you think ada will let me go to Rohan soon?”

 _Not once he hears what happened when he allowed you to go exploring only a few days from Minas Tirith_ , Legolas thought to himself. Aloud, he said, “I am certain of it.”

Eldarion relaxed happily, then paused. Legolas could sense the child’s brow furrowing. “Do you mean _Elf_ -soon or _Man_ -soon?” he asked accusingly.

“There is a difference?” Legolas replied with innocent surprise.

“Uncle Legolas,” the boy chided him, “you _know_ there is. ‘Soon’ always means something different when you and nana say it than when everyone else does.”

The Elf smiled, trying to focus wholly on the light conversation and ignore the dark pressing in around him, although that was growing increasingly difficult. “Does it indeed?” he asked in mock amazement. “I had never noticed. Pray tell, what is this difference?”

“When you and nana say soon it _never_ means _soon_ ,” Eldarion explained forcefully.

“Really? I had not noticed that her majesty and I possessed such poor command of the Westron tongue. Perhaps we ought to continue in Sindarin?” he asked helpfully.

“ _I_ think,” the child said with the air of a philosopher surrounded by plebeians, “that Uncle Gimli is right. You _are_ impossible to talk to for more than five minutes at a time.”

“And yet,” Legolas pointed out, “we have already been speaking for many times that.”

“Then I’m obviously more talented at speechcraft than Uncle Gimli.”

“I see,” the Elf said seriously. “You shall have to inform him of this upon his return.”

“All right. I will.”

“I look forward to seeing his response. It is sure to be memorable.”

There was silence for another long moment. Legolas closed his eyes, thinking that perhaps it would help to shut out the blackness. He brushed light fingers through sweaty curls. The child needed water soon, or he would become dehydrated, but there was none here. Legolas hoped that Gimli would return shortly. He did not know how much more of this the boy could endure.

Or, for that matter, how much more _he_ could endure.

Then the silence was broken once more by a soft, piping voice:

“Uncle Legolas? Could you tell me another story?”

* * *  


  
Loud curses in Khuzdul echoed through the dark cavern, along with a clattering racket as Gimli went sprawling. He picked himself up, still cursing, and felt out with raw and scraped hands the obstruction that had so discomfited him. He had done so many, many times throughout his mad dash. No matter how much Dwarves like caves, and caves like Dwarves, they cannot see in the dark—and rocks will not move aside for them.

And right now, Gimli was in no shape to search out a safe path before taking it. Rather, he was running headlong through the black tunnels out of anxiety—and, if he would admit it, fear. Not for himself, but for his friends, whom he had left behind— _abandoned_ , hissed a cruel voice in Gimli’s mind, which he did his best to ignore. Still, the voice chased him on as much as his fear did, without pause or concern for the numerous (and occasionally quite painful) tumbles and collisions he had suffered from. But despite his now battered condition—especially around his shins, toes, and palms—he paid little attention to either hurts or hard stone.

Except for this one. This rock got special treatment, because, as Gimli quickly discovered, this stone was at the bottom of the pile he had made—was it only a few hours ago? It felt like days—to reach back to the level from which they had fallen in the collapse. Pausing only long enough to ascertain in which direction the crude “steps” climbed, the dwarf scrambled up them as fast as he dared—perhaps faster.

Faster, certainly, than he should have; no more than a third of the way up (or so he estimated), Gimli took a wrong step and slipped. He scrabbled desperately for a purchase, but the stones caught only the first few layers of the skin of his palms and did little to arrest his fall.

Cursing even louder, Gimli plummeted back to the floor of the cavern where he lay still.

* * *  


Eldarion’s eyes drooped sleepily although he fought to keep them open. Having finished the story some time ago, Uncle Legolas was now humming something—it sounded familiar, like one of the songs his nana sang, but he couldn’t quite place it—and the numbness had spread past his legs, diluting some of the chill he felt. A gentle hand stroking his brow combined with the soft melody to draw the boy irresistibly towards slumber.

“Uncle Legolas?” he asked in hoarse whisper.

“Yes, Eldarion?” the Elf replied instantly, leaning over the small form resting in his lap. “What is it, little one?”

“Do you think Uncle Gimli will be back soon?”

“Ay,” Legolas replied in a confident voice, then continued lightly. “And that is human-soon, not elf-soon; fear not.”

“Good,” Eldarion whispered, fighting his eyes back open, even though it made no difference in the darkness. He was glad his uncle was so certain; if Legolas was sure of it, he was sure of it. He yawned and winced, for his head was still sore. Instantly Legolas murmured in Sindarin too quietly for the boy’s sleepy ears to catch and pressed his hand lightly on the child’s forehead, soothing the twinge of pain.

“Are you tired?” the Elf asked quietly.

Eldarion would have denied it, but another yawn prevented him from doing so. “Perhaps a little,” he admitted.

“Then sleep, little one. No doubt Gimli will be here within _moments_ , but there is no reason why you should not enjoy what rest you can ‘ere he returns.” Again he tried to protest, but Legolas shushed him determinedly. “ _Losto_ , Eldarion. I shall wake you— _very soon_ —when Gimli comes. But for now, sleep.”

“Thank you for rescuing me,” the boy whispered, fighting against falling eyelids and tightly hugging the Elf as best he could from his awkward angle half on his uncle’s lap and half under the heavy rock.

“Hush,” Legolas said softly, stroking the child’s head soothingly, “ _losto_ , child. _Losto_.”

Struggle though he would, Eldarion dropped slowly under the soothing spell of a soft Elven voice. The comforting blackness of sleep—so different from the ever-so-slightly frightening (but he _wasn’t_ scared) black of the cave—draped itself gently around the boy.

“Sleep, little one. Do not fear. Gimli shall return in moments, and I am here with you. _Sleep_.”

Safe in his uncle's arms and vocie, Eldarion slept.

* * *  


  
With a heavy groan, Gimli lifted his head. He froze a moment before he realized that the ringing he heard came not from the cave around him, but from within his own head. The dwarf groaned again and forced himself to his feet.

He promptly fell down again as his right knee gave way and deposited him suddenly on the hard ground. Wincing, the Dwarf rose more carefully, silently cursing himself for the fall. His ribs, if they weren’t before, were definitely cracked now, he realized with a deep breath that turned into a gasp of pain. Grumbling words that would never have been uttered in the hearing of Queen Arwen, Lady Éowyn, Queen Lothíriel, or any of their children, but which had many times been spoken to—and by—the ladies’ husbands, Gimli shoved the pain aside and climbed quickly, although a bit slower, up the stone steps. They were strangely spaced and shifted dangerously with his weight, but he would not pause to check their stability—there was no time for that. He would simply have to trust to luck and the Valar.

One or the other was with Gimli, for the stones held, and he at last clambered out of the pit onto the crumbling lip of the half-collapsed cavern floor. There was still no light, but Gimli thought he detected the faintest hint of fresh air. Taking no time to enjoy it, he immediately began groping around the rubble-strewn floor—gingerly; he had no desire to start another collapse—for the torches that he prayed were still here. _Hurry_ , he extorted himself. He had to hurry. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious. He thought that it was only for a moment or two, but if it had been longer…

The Dwarf shivered, picturing Legolas and little Eldarion alone in the darkness, waiting hopelessly…

* * *  


  
Legolas was having a difficult time remaining calm; he needed to distract himself before he started to panic. He needed something—anything—to draw his mind away from this consuming darkness, but he was not going to wake Eldarion to entertain him; he was not yet so cowardly that he would disturb needed rest and draw the child back to this place of dark despair simply to distract himself.

As it had once lightened spirits—if only for a moment—after the dark of Moria, so Legolas hoped perhaps the Lay of Nimrodel might—for a moment—lighten them again. The close, dark cave threatened to overwhelm him. Taking a deep breath, the Elven-prince began to sing in a soft voice barely to be heard in the smothering caves:

 _“An Elven-maid there was of old,  
A shining star by day:  
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,  
Her shoes of silver-grey._

 _“A star was bound upon her brows,  
A light was on her hair  
As sun upon the golden boughs  
In Lórien the fair…”_


	16. Sindanóriello Caita Mornië

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Sindanóriello Caita Mornië_ – “all paths are drowned deep in shadow,” from Galadriel’s Lament in Lórien ( _Fellowship of the Ring:_ Book Two _Chapter VIII_ “Farewell to Lórien”)

The faint strains of Elvish music whispered hauntingly through the black caverns. It spoke of sun and sea, and of sorrow and loss—

 _“Amroth beheld the fading shore  
Now low beyond the swell,  
And cursed the faithless ship that bore  
Him far from Nimrodel.”_

—but it did little to move the cold, hard rocks around them now.

 _“Of old he was an Elven-king,  
A lord of tree and glen,  
When golden were the boughs in spring  
In fair Lothlórien.”_

 _What I would not give to see fair Lothlórien now,_ thought Legolas as he sang, the memory of the mallorn trees, or niphredil and elanor, fresh in his mind and—for a moment—driving away the dark around him with their gold and silver-grey.

 _“From helm to sea they saw him leap,  
As arrow from the string,  
And dive into the water deep,  
As mew upon the wing.”_

But then darkness fell once more, closing over Legolas’s head like the waters of a hungry—heartless—ocean.

 _“The wind was in his flowing hair,  
The foam about him shone;  
Afar they saw him strong and fair  
Go riding like a swan.”_

There was no wind in this dark place, and no light to make anything shine, no matter how fair. Here, there was only blackness and stone pressing ever closer, smothering his words.

 _“But from the West has come no word  
And on the Hither Shore  
No tidings Elven-folk have heard  
O Amroth…evermore…”_

Alone in the darkness save for Eldarion’s quietly slumbering form, the Elf’s voice faltered and the song died. Around him, the blackness gathered ever thicker. Legolas licked his dry lips but the song he was about to begin shattered in his mind and drifted away, quashed by the ever-increasing, ever-closening darkness of the cave.

Where was Gimli? Legolas could think of many reasons why the Dwarf had not yet returned, but none of them were cheering ones. What if, despite his avowed sense of perfect underground memory and direction, he had gotten lost somehow and could not find his way? Or perhaps in his haste he had neglected to take caution, and had gone tumbling down another pit, and even now was crying for help with an ever-weakening voice…

Shivering, Legolas tried to shake the vision from his mind, but it would not depart. Over and over he watched as Gimli fell to his doom, calling for help that would never hear, never come…he died cursing his so-called friend’s name—and his cowardice.

For coward he surely was. Legolas blamed himself completely for the situation they were now in. Were it not for his foolish fears, Eldarion and Gimli would have spent yesterday enjoying the caverns to their hearts’ content, and left safe and unharmed—but due to his weakness, both in feeling such reasonless fears and in showing them, they had not, and thus had returned today with perfect timing to be caught by this collapse. And were it not for his weakness, both in feeling and showing this fear, Gimli would not be risking his neck to speed so recklessly through sightless, unforgiving tunnels. Were it not for his rising panic, he would have been able to comfort Eldarion, but it was all the Elf could do to cling to fragile control and sanity in this oppressive darkness.

Were it not for his _failure_ Aragorn and Arwen’s son would not be hurt.

Were it not for _his_ failure, Gimli, his dearest friend, would not now be at risk—or worse…

Smothered by darkness and self-loathing, Legolas closed his eyes tightly, trying to close out the pervasive darkness—but there was no refuge. Even with his eyes shut, he could not escape the bitterness of his weakness—his _failure._

* * *  


  
Having exhausted his not-inconsiderable store of curses, Gimli was now fumbling for other amusements as he sprinted awkwardly through the cavern tunnels, the unlit torches clutched in his arms. He tried singing, haltingly in between panting breaths:

 _“Where now she wanders none can tell,  
In sunlight or in shade;  
For lost of…of yore was Nimrodel  
And in the…the_—blast it all— _in the mountain strayed._

 _“The elven-ship in haven-grey…  
…haven-grey…haven-grey…_curses!

“I can remember no more,” he grumbled. “Foolish, flighty Elf…only see the toll his company has taken on my thoughts; singing a silly, romantic, foolish Elvish song, rather than a good, strong Dwarven one…” As Gimli’s grumbles died away with the last echoes of _Nimrodel_ in the dark tunnels, like cobwebs in a sudden wind, the cave seemed to become chiller.

On the heels of ancient Elvish grief came heavy guilt that had ever raced at Gimli’s heels as he ran caught up once more with the Dwarf. It was strong, and smothering, and Gimli thought absently that he might have an inkling of how Legolas felt in what was to the Elf the pressing weight of the caves.

Caves had never bothered Gimli; on the contrary, he was quite fond of them. Guilt, on the other hand…guilt affected Gimli just as strongly and just as readily as it did his Elven friend. And it could overwhelm him just as easily.

His reckless race through the tunnels might have been painful, but no number of tumbles could ever hurt the Dwarf as much as the shame and remorse battering him. Had an orc offered to put him out of his misery, he would almost have been tempted to accept—once he saw the princes safely out of here. He would never forgive himself for this—this foolishness, this wrong done to a child he was trusted to protect and a dear friend who trusted him entirely.

Remembering Legolas’s quiet words at the campfire the night before, Gimli felt tears come to his eyes. _“I know that you would never let me be lost, elvellon,”_ the Elf had said—and Gimli had failed him. Because of his folly, not only had he been lost for hours in the dark cave, but Legolas now sat in blackness without Gimli’s aid and trying to be strong and in control for the sake of the child they had both sworn their lives to protect—

And there another failure! As the other wounded his heart, so did this one wound his honor. He had failed in his charge, and Eldarion was hurt—who knew how badly! That brave, sweet, innocent child had been entrusted to his care and protection, and see how he repaid Aragorn and Arwen for their faith in him! He would be lucky if Aragorn did not take off his head for this.

No, Gimli amended, he would be lucky if Aragorn _did_ take off his head for this. Then not only would he be at last out of his misery, but he would not have to live to know what the Queen Arwen would do to him. For all that Gimli scoffed at Elves, he knew the power of an Elvish gaze—and he knew that if the Lady Galadriel’s had been intense in Lothlórien’s boughs, her granddaughter’s was likely to be sharp enough to cut when it came to those who let her son be harmed. Arwen might be mortal, but that did not change her lineage. She was still of the blood of the Lady of the Golden Wood—

And then a new thought entered Gimli’s mind. What would the Lady Galadriel think, were she to learn of what he had let befall her great-grandson? Shame rushed even thicker through Gimli’s veins with a chill. Galadriel. He had _failed_ the _Lady Galadriel_ , fairest being to ever walk the woods of Middle-earth, she whose locks he bore so lovingly. Gimli’s hands were not free to steal to the small crystal within his pocket, but he felt it there, dragging at him with the weight of his failure. In his mind, the smiling face of the Lady grew dark and frowned on him; more grievous was that wound than any he had suffered ‘ere that moment.

The black darkness of the cave wrapped itself tightly around Gimli’s heart, weaving a heavy mesh of shadow over the Dwarf’s soul.


	17. Tension and Banter

At last, only avoiding scraping off skin because of his heavy chainmail and thick shirt, Gimli squirmed through the just-a-little-too-small opening and landed heavily in the small chamber in which he had left Legolas and Eldarion. He rose, then froze. The Elf had not said anything about his less-than-graceful arrival. Fear gripping his suddenly racing heart, Gimli turned in the darkness to where the two princes had been when he left them.

He saw only blackness.

The faint glimmer that was Legolas’s Elven eyes was not there.

Panic making his fingers clumsy, Gimli at last managed to strike a spark from the flint he carried and with it light one of the torches he had carried here. As the flame suddenly filled the small cavern with dim light that, after such prolonged darkness, was nearly blinding, Gimli saw his two friends through squinted eyes. The reprieve that the sight of the two princes, one sleeping peacefully with his dark head pillowed in the lap of the other who sat over the child protectively, had given Gimli vanished when he noticed Legolas’s face—or, more accurately, his eyes.

 _The Elf’s eyes were closed!_  
Gimli had been around Elves—or, more accurately, had been around Legolas—enough to know that they rarely closed their eyes, and that an Elf sleeping with eyes shut was a _bad_ thing usually indicative of heavy injury. The Dwarf started forward with a short, sharp cry of inarticulate worry.

Legolas’s dangling head snapped up and his eyes flashed open. The Elf’s face crumbled in relief at the sight of the flickering torchlight, but the emotion vanished so quickly beneath the calm mask of dignity he usually wore that it almost seemed an illusion. Gimli sighed so heartily the fire wavered and his shoulders slumped in a release of anxiety he had not until then been aware of.

His friend was all right.

Now, as long as the child was unharmed… He looked to Legolas for conformation that Eldarion’s sleep was natural and not something to be concerned over. The Elf nodded slightly, reassuring the Dwarf that all was well, although he seemed decidedly tense—which was really no surprise, Gimli thought, although he could not remember ever seeing his friend look quite so high strung. Not even in Moria—although admittedly watching the Elf to see that he was well had not been high on Gimli’s mind at that point. It was now, though, and he studied his friend closely, unnerved to see how his slim hands trembled ever so slightly as he gently shook Eldarion’s shoulder.

“Eldarion,” Legolas said softly, “awake. See, Gimli is here, as soon as I had promised.”

A pang of guilt tugged at the Dwarf when he heard those words and he looked at his friend to offer silent apology but Legolas was not watching him. His eyes were fixed on the small face in his lap as Eldarion stirred slightly and mumbled in his sleep. “Eldarion, it is time to awake,” the Elf continued calmly. “It is as I said; Gimli has returned within moments, and it is now time for you to leave your dreams so that we may leave this—cave.”

Gimli knew that he did not imagine the tremble in Legolas’s voice when he spoke the last word and had to swallow hard at the sight of his friend in distress. Clearing his throat gruffly, the Dwarf stepped forward and spoke briskly, “is it any wonder the lad does not wish to waken? When at last you had bored him to sleep, he had only your company to look forward to. Obviously he is not yet aware that I am here to save him from dealing any further with you on his own.”

Legolas turned a haughty glare on the Dwarf that brimmed with gratitude. “As even you should have noticed by now, Master Dwarf,” he replied with a gracefully arched eyebrow that spoke of derision, “it was your name that I mentioned when calling him to wake. _Obviously_ , he does not wish to leave his fair dreams and come back to your Dwarvish presence.”

“If that is the case, then you have _obviously_ bewitched him,” Gimli replied sternly. “Only strange Elvish magicks could so affect the mind of such a bright lad as to have him scorn Dwarvish company for that of Elves.”

“Nay,” Legolas began, but had no time to complete his response for Eldarion suddenly giggled, drawing both pairs of eyes to him.

The child opened his eyes, a small smile of chagrin on his face for having given away his wakefulness when he was so enjoying the argument. “Er…” the boy mumbled sheepishly, “I am now awake, Uncles, thank you?” He summoned the most innocent expression on to his face that he could manage, and considering both his heritage on both sides and the companionship of his “uncles” it was an impressive one indeed.

Elf and Dwarf nodded solemnly. “Then I suppose Gimli and I shall table our discussion for now, in order to not bore you,” Legolas said in a voice that seemed slightly strained to Gimli although Eldarion noticed nothing amiss.

“All right,” Eldarion replied, completely confident in his uncles’ abilities to free him easily and without mishap. The Elf and Dwarf were slightly less so, but they would not let the boy see that.

Legolas gently lowered Eldarion’s head back to the cave floor as he gracefully removed his legs—which, Gimli grumbled to note, seemed not in the least stiff despite having been in quite a cramped position while serving as a pillow for some time. He was slightly mollified to see Legolas discreetly stretching an ankle—even Elves weren’t above such minor ailments, he noted with glee—until he noticed that it was the Elf’s _left_ ankle, which he had injured earlier. Noting Gimli’s attention, Legolas immediately stopped and glared at the Dwarf.

Gimli sighed and grumbled inwardly at the proud archer, shooting his friend a matching glare which Legolas ignored by turning to survey the small chamber they were in. His naturally pale face blanched a bit more when he saw how close their quarters really were but he gave no other sign of discomfort. Gimli wasn’t sure if this was a good thing—was the Elf getting over his claustrophobia?—or a bad one—or had he just been pressed so far beyond his limits that one more meant nothing to the pretense of calmness he had crafted? The Dwarf’s eyes studied his friend but Legolas neatly avoided the sharp gaze by walking around the large stone that had Eldarion pinned.

Gimli, now taking a good look at the stone for the first time, blanched as well. It looked far worse than they had assumed. The boulder was easily the size of four rather round hobbits and was precariously balanced on a few of the smaller stones that littered the floor of the small cavern. Move it the wrong way, and it would come crashing down to crush whatever was beneath it—including the legs of little Eldarion.

Elf and Dwarf exchanged fearful glances around the stone, realizing what a close call they had really had when first they tried to free the child. A slight push in the wrong direction… Shuddering in unison, they silently decided not to think on it but to concentrate on getting Eldarion free without further danger.

Lighting another torch and handing it to Legolas, Gimli walked slowly around the stone examining it closely from every angle with a single-minded attention to detail that only a Dwarf could approach. Legolas was doing the same, peering intently at the rock with a practiced eye in exactly the way that Elven warriors never did. Gimli felt he ought to make a comment, but even his vaunted skills of banter couldn’t quite muster an appropriate insult at the moment.

“I believe,” Legolas said after a moment, “that we ought to be able to lever it against these stones over here.” He looked at Gimli for conformation of his assessment.

“And are we to trust the word of an Elf in how to handle rock?” Gimli said with a wide grin, pleased to have teasing opportunities dropped in his lap when he could not come up with them on his own. Anything to distract them from the situation…

Apparently Legolas thought the same. “When a Dwarf proves inadequate, what else is one to do?”

“If a Dwarf proves inadequate, how is an Elf to attempt to be equal to the task?” Gimli said quickly, relieved that Legolas had responded.

“Where lesser beings fail, is it not up to superior ones to compensate for them?”

“I suppose you are right, Elf, in which case it is good for you that I am here to do so for you.”

“Trust a Dwarf not to recognize the words of wisdom for what they are even when they are offered clearly enough for such small brains to comprehend.”

“Elves know of wisdom?”

“I know it is difficult for such as Dwarves to grasp the concept of wisdom’s existence, but trust me, my stunted friend, it does exist.”

“True enough, although I have seen little evidence of such lately,” Gimli began.

“Then it is good that you have returned to me ‘ere you forgot entirely what the use of wisdom looked like,” Legolas interrupted with a brittle grin.

Gimli glared at the Elf, but continued as if he had not spoken, “but I must admit that occasionally even Elves can show an inkling of intelligence. It must be my companionship rubbing off on you,” he added under his breath. “But you are right, likely for the first time in all your long years,” he went on as Legolas chuckled—weakly, but he still chuckled, which cheered Gimli’s heart greatly. “I believe that these rocks are stable enough to act as the fulcrum.”

Throughout the entire exchange, Elf and Dwarf had been carefully inspecting and testing the stones around the base of the boulder, conversing about their suitability in the silent pantomime unintelligible to all but them. Eldarion had been vastly amused by the conversation, which was of course another of its purposes; their endless banter was an enjoyable means of sharpening their wits on each other, but it was also good for keeping up spirits. Granted, there were those who occasionally found it annoying (Aragorn came to mind, and his many advisors; even Éomer on occasion had barked for them to cease), but on the whole others appreciated it when under stress as much as did the Elf and Dwarf involved in it.

Thranduil, Gimli thought idly as he planned out the maneuver in his mind, had never appreciated their conversations for the genius that they showed. The Dwarf had privately decided that the Elven-king had no detectable sense of humor, despite Legolas assuring him that such was not the case. Of course, Dwarves in general put that Elf in poor humor, so perhaps that had a slight affect upon… With a satisfied nod, Gimli decided that would be the best course of action.

“What do you think?” He turned to the Elf to see if he agreed with his conclusion, but Legolas was frowning slightly as he studied the boulder. “You do not concur?” Gimli asked, surprised.

“Nay, _mellon nin_ , I find no fault in your mechanics,” the Elf reassured him. "Although I assure you once more, he truly does possess one," he added absently.

 _Ah_ , Gimli thought. “You are probably right,” he said after a moment. “I had not thought of the lad being too stiff to scramble out quickly.” He thought for a long moment, but no solution presented itself. “Yet if one of us pulls the boy free, will the other on his own be able to raise the rock to enough height to allow him to slip free?”

“And therein lies the difficulty,” Legolas murmured, studying the boulder carefully. Suddenly he dropped to a crouch and, holding his torch nearly level with the floor, peered under the rock by Eldarion’s trapped legs. He mumbled something that Gimli thought must be a curse, but he could not quite make out the words, or even the language. He was sure the Elf would know better than to curse in Sindarin in front of Arwen’s son, but both he and Legolas had picked up enough other exclamations (primarily from Éomer) over the years that their oaths could be quite versatile in language. Then again, Legolas had picked up enough Dwarven curses that it was quite possible that he had said something nasty in Khuzdul—yet another complaint Thranduil had with Gimli’s friendship with his son. The Dwarf grinned to himself, remembering that particular discussion, while he waited for Legolas to finish his examinations.

The Elf patted Eldarion’s shoulder reassuringly before rising smoothly and staring at Gimli. The Dwarf tensed; he knew that look. That was the look of, _you are not going to want to do this but I intend to convince you._ It was never good when the Elf got that look on his face.

It meant he was going to suggest something unutterably _stupid, foolhardy,_ and _reckless._

Gimli groaned. No. There was nothing on all of Arda that could convince _him_ to let the Elf do _that!_


	18. Silent Trust

It took the drowsy Eldarion a few moments to become aware of what was going on. He had closed his eyes again against the torchlight, stingingly bright after so long lying in darkness. His still-sleepy mind had to process things for a little before it struck him as odd that Uncle Legolas and Uncle Gimli were pausing so much in their conversation—a conversation that did not make much sense. Then he realized that they must be, for the most part, talking without words.

Eldarion’s eyes flashed open and he stared hard at his uncles. He was determined to learn how to converse without speaking, and he did not want to miss a thing. Grey orbs that showed age far older than his few years fastened tightly on the Elf and Dwarf above him.

Uncle Legolas twitched his eyebrows and blinked twice.

Uncle Gimli drew _his_ bushy brows down firmly in response and twitched his nose.

Uncle Legolas shrugged slightly and tilted his head to one side.

Uncle Gimli pantomimed drawing a bow and frowned heavily.

Uncle Legolas scowled and clenched his hands into fists.

Uncle Gimli nodded and crossed his arms.

Uncle Legolas jerked his chin up and glared down his nose at the Dwarf.

Uncle Gimli firmly shook his head, and emphasized it with a short, warning, “Elf…”

Uncle Legolas sighed and rolled his eyes, then fastened them on Gimli and thinned his lips.

Uncle Gimli put his hands on his hips and shook his head again.

Uncle Legolas spread his palms and then drew his hands in sharply before nodding sideways at the rock.  
Uncle Gimli flung his arms up into the air and glared at the Elf.

Uncle Legolas crossed his arms across his chest and glowered at the Dwarf.

Uncle Gimli stamped his foot and growled.

Uncle Legolas’s face twitched into a grin of triumph, then his gaze softened. “Do not fear, _mellon nin_ ,” he spoke quietly. “I think that it is not so foolhardy an idea as you would fain believe.”

Eldarion blinked in disappointment. He had watched so carefully, but he still hadn’t been able to tell what was being said. He knew that they had been arguing, but beyond that the boy was as in the dark to the nature of their discussion as he had been in the cave only a short time earlier. The young prince sighed dejectedly, wondering if he would ever be able to figure out his uncles’ speech-without-words conversations.

He knew that sometimes his ada, and even his nana, could pick up on pieces of the discussions, but as far as the child knew the only people truly fluent in what he termed “silent-talk” were Uncle Gimli and Uncle Legolas. And the worst part was, it seemed so natural to them! When asked about it, they would stare back at the questioner with equal looks of plainly innocent confusion. Eldarion wished that he could speak without words as naturally as his uncles could. Eldarion sighed dejectedly. “I wish _I_ could do that,” he muttered quietly.

“Do what, little one?” Uncle Legolas, whose hearing was even sharper than naneth’s, had heard him clearly.

“Talk like you and Uncle Gimli do, without using words!” the child answered dismally.

Legolas and Gimli turned looks of _such_ extreme innocence toward the child that a more jaded observer would have known instantly that it was an act. “What do you mean?” they asked in perfect unison—another sign that the boy missed picking up on.

Eldarion sighed again. He would never be able to learn how to do that, he was sure of it…

* * *  


  
Legolas and Gimli exchanged tiny grins that immediately sobered as they faced their next action. Legolas could tell that Gimli was remarkably unhappy, and he had given in only after much effort. Finally, pressed to admit that they had no time to waste as well as to confess that he could think of no better plan, the Dwarf had acquiesced gracelessly.

But that did not stop him from shooting dark glares at the Elf as they prepared. Gimli was adjusting some stones around the base of the boulder as a safety measure. Legolas lit the rest of the torches and, using some rocks that Gimli had discarded to prop them up securely and placed strategically to provide the most light possible in the small space. The arrangements completed, the two friends turned to each other and exchanged grim smiles that attempted to be reassuring but came out apprehensive. Quickly turning away they readied the last stages of the necessary preparation.

Legolas knelt by Eldarion to explained what they were going to do. “You shall soon be out child,” the Elf reassured him. “Gimli shall lever the rock so that it is no longer pressing on your limbs, and I shall pull you out from beneath it as quickly as possible. All right?” He caught the boy’s eyes with a penetrating Elvish gaze of enough intensity to make even Eldarion—distant child of the Eldar himself, and well used to such glances from his kin and friends—aware of the import of the moment.

Sobered, the child nodded seriously. “Yes, Uncle,” he said quietly. “I understand.” There was such trust in those wide grey eyes that Legolas was forced to turn away as he was suffused with guilt. How could they have brought such an innocent into such danger? Eldarion trusted them completely, and here they were about to risk his life—yet the child, though full aware of the danger of the task, was not in the least bit worried. _He trusts us_ , Legolas thought sadly, _yet this day we have not proved worthy of that trust. Let us pray that we do so now..._

Shaking off his thoughts for later, the Elf turned his attention to the task at hand. He crouched next to the boulder and slid his hands in under it as far as they would go on either side of Eldarion’s legs. He suppressed the slight tremble of fear he felt at the action. As Gimli had pointed out, Legolas was an archer. His fingers were long and nimble—and now waiting beneath heavy stone that could well fall and crush them to powder with the slightest miscalculation. But for Eldarion, there was no hesitation at any risk. The Dwarf felt the same; he would do anything for the child’s sake. He just did not want Legolas to do so as well. The Elf understood; he would have felt the same were it Gimli in his position.

And it was Gimli who stood poised to raise the rock. He trusted his friend completely. The Dwarf might not have full confidence in his abilities, but Legolas did—although, of course, he would never do Gimli the disservice of admitting it for that would break their silent pact of feigned-antagonism.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself as much as his cave-and-darkness-frayed nerves would allow, the Elf looked up and met Gimli’s eyes. They stared at each other for a moment, speaking without words, then Legolas nodded firmly.

Gimli pressed his weight upon the flat of his axe’s wide blade and the rock began to rise…


	19. A Sense of Precarious Balance

Slowly, as the Dwarf’s solid weight pressed on the axe blade, the boulder was levered upwards. It only moved a few inches, despite Gimli nearly climbing onto his axe, but those few inches would be enough.

They would have to be.

“Do not fear, Eldarion,” Legolas absently repeated the whispered litany over and over as the stone slowly lifted. Eldarion just nodded confidently, completely trusting in his uncles’ promise to rescue him. Despite being the one under the boulder, Eldarion was not the one nearly trembling in anxiety. He was perfectly calm. The Elf and the Dwarf, on the other hand, were terrified.

Gimli knew that at any moment the rock could slip a little too far to one side or the other, and if it went to the one it would mean death for both his friends while if it went to the other it would at the least mean grave injury to the boy’s legs and the archer’s hands. Despite the chill conditions of the cave, sweat rolled down Gimli’s taunt face as fear gripped his heart.

Legolas knew that at any moment the boulder could decide to roll backwards with the lever, and that would mean Gimli’s death. He had every confidence in the Dwarf, but accidents could happen, and if one did he knew that Gimli would never allow it to harm the boy—or the Elf. He would sacrifice himself before that happened and the thought terrified Legolas.

The child flinched and bit his lip as the weight lifted off his legs but made no other sign of distress. Legolas tugged sharply on Eldarion’s legs and the child moved a few inches—

But just as relief passed across the faces of Elf and Dwarf the boy stopped. He was stuck. Somehow both Gimli and Legolas kept from crying out in dismay, but it was evident on both their faces. Legolas flashed a glance at Gimli and the Dwarf nodded shortly; he would hold the stone in place. If it killed him to do it, he would not let that boulder budge.

Quickly turning back, Legolas, now lying nearly prone in an attempt to practically wriggle into the small gap between rock and floor, squeezed his thin fingers in as far as they would go along Eldarion’s legs as he searched for the impediment. He found a large rock that was lying on Eldarion’s trousers—although fortunately not on the boy himself—that was pressed tightly between boulder and floor. Whispering a swift prayer to Elbereth that this rock was not one on which the stone was resting, and hoping that his act was not about to have dire consequences for both Eldarion and himself, Legolas forced it aside.

The boulder quivered almost imperceptibly but did not otherwise move. Letting out a breath he had not known he was holding, the Elf wrapped his fingers around the boy’s knees and pulled again. The child was almost free when there was another snag. Legolas felt carefully with his fingers but could not find the source of the hindrance, yet Eldarion would not come out. The Elf pressed himself as close to the floor as he could and peered under the boulder.

The flickering torches gave Elvish eyes just enough light to dimly make out the problem. The boulder was not entirely round and one of the protrusions was directly in line with Eldarion’s right foot. It had not stopped the boy’s leg, although doubtless it had grazed the knee slightly, but it would not allow the child’s booted foot to pass. Glaring at the piece of rock with all the power an Elf could muster, Legolas mentally cursed everything about caves, stones, rocks, Dwarves—however that related—and most especially boulders who thought it amusing to pin innocent children beneath them.

Squirming further under the rock, the lithe archer’s fingers strained to carefully ease the child’s foot around the outcropping of rock. Holding his breath for fear of disturbing the precariously balanced boulder, the Elf gradually slid back out from under the stone with Eldarion. He froze when he felt the rock quiver above him.

* * *  


  
Gimli strained with all his might to hold the boulder perfectly still. He barely breathed, barely blinked; just stared fiercely at the haft of his axe that was serving as a lever to raise the large rock from its precarious position. The slightest tremor could send the whole thing crashing down onto his friends.

He dared not watch the desperate rescue attempt going on to the side, for that would mean taking his eyes from the frail balance point and that he would not do. His friends were depending on him, and he would not fail them through inattention, no matter how much he wished to see how they were faring.

Instead, with all the famed stubbornness of Dwarves’ stiff necks, he focused solely on the thin axe and heavy rock to the exclusion of all else around him. But inside his mind he was screaming for the Valar to guard Legolas and Eldarion. _Let Mahal keep my hand steady_ , he begged. _And let neither of them be harmed._ The litany repeated itself in his mind over and over until it reached the point of obsession. His muscles strained and his eyes burned, but Gimli did not flicker. He was as unmovable as the cursed rock; neither of them would flinch, neither of them would shift, neither of them—

The rock quivered. Fear making Gimli’s heart hammer in his ears louder than all his kin in Aglarond and Erebor combined, the Dwarf tried to balance the boulder and still it. For a moment, it seemed that he had succeeded.

Then, with a horrid grinding sound, it shifted slowly—painfully slowly—from the axe haft. Before the agonized eyes of the helpless Dwarf, the boulder fell as if through thick honey. The sound of its crushing impact with the stone floor of the cave was echoed by the raw cry that burst from Gimli’s throat.

From the Elf and child, there was no sound.


	20. Elbereth and Mahal

“Gimli!”

“Legolas!”

“By Elbereth, are you unharmed?”

“Mahal, are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, fine, what of you?” they both replied anxiously, then relaxed with heavy sighs when they realized that the other was unscathed.

“Valar, you frightened me,” Legolas murmured as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

“How do you think I felt? You were the one under the rock,” Gimli muttered as he moved to join the Elf and child. Legolas was already searching Eldarion’s legs with gentle fingers.

“How do you fare, child?” the Elf asked quietly.

“He was not harmed, was he?” Gimli asked, fear returning.

“Nay, we were both safely out of the boulder’s path.”

“Thank the Valar for the speed of the Elves, then,” Gimli murmured, passing a hand over his eyes.

“Don’t worry, Uncle Gimli,” Eldarion piped up. “Nothing bad was going to happen. I knew you wouldn’t let it.” Gimli swallowed hard and nodded, unable to form words for the lump forming in his throat. There was silence for a moment, then Eldarion shifted and groaned slightly beneath Legolas’s gentle hands.

“Eldarion? What is hurt?” the Elf asked quickly.

“I’m—all right,” Eldarion gasped, tears sparking in the corners of his eyes as he clung to the Elf’s tunic. “My legs just—burn!”

“That is just the blood returning,” Legolas spoke with confidence that his eyes did not mirror. Gimli crouched down next to the two princes.

“Here, lad, hang on to me so your uncle can see if anything’s hurt,” the Dwarf offered, knowing that Elven fingers were better suited to the sensitive task, as their touch upon an afflicted part oft relieved pain rather than caused it.

Nodding silently the boy transferred his grasp to the Dwarf’s thick beard. Gimli attempted to look affronted but the worry and concern in his heart prevented anything more than an anxious, tender smile to form on his creased face as he gingerly patted the boy’s head.

He knew Legolas suddenly tensed although he was careful not to let out a gasp. The Dwarf looked up quickly and saw the Elf’s pale fingers stained red as he held them up to the torchlight. Gimli’s heart dropped like a stone but he forced himself to keep his voice merry. “Tell me, lad, did this flighty Elf manage to drive your thoughts to distraction while I was gone?”

“Better than time spent in the company of a Dwarf. At least if I sent his thoughts anywhere it was to a worthy place,” Legolas forced out cheerily as he searched for the sight of the injury.

“Worthy?” Gimli snorted through a painfully dry mouth. “I think you confuse _high_ with _lofty_. Simply because the stars are far above your heads does not mean that they need have such thought devoted to them as the Elves give.” Eldarion’s giggle was lost somewhere in the Dwarf’s beard. Gimli gently stroked the small head, relieved that they had at least managed to distract and relax the child, even if they could not manage to do the same for themselves.

“Simply because some things may be too _high_ for a Dwarf to properly fathom is no reason why greater beings should not do so,” the Elf responded with forced humor.

Had Gimli not been so worried right now, he would have known better than to ever use the word ‘high’ when in conversation with Legolas. That was almost as bad as saying ‘above.’ “And ‘tis a good thing,” Gimli replied stoutly. “The way you foolish creatures keep your heads in the clouds, it is only thanks to the more sensibly creatures of the earth that anything gets accomplished.”

“Alas,” the Elf replied quickly, “we have no sensible Hobbits here to do so for us.” Legolas visibly relaxed as he spoke and Gimli let out a breath he had not known he was holding. The injury was not bad. He raised his eyebrows questioningly at his friend. Legolas tilted his head to one side, thinking. Gimli was tempted to remark on how much he resembled a brainless bird studying seeds to decide if they were edible when he did that, but restrained himself. If they got into a discussion on their personal habits, they could become involved for hours and they could not spare that time now.

Legolas nodded at last and Gimli relaxed even more. The child could be moved. Neither Elf nor Dwarf were healers, and both were frightened of any situation that called for them to act as thus. But even they could tell when a bone was broken; they were both accomplished enough warriors to know the basics of field medicine by now, and if the Elf judged that the boy was not so injured, Gimli would agree. Not that the Elf liked trusting in his diagnoses, but now they had no choice. They could not wait for Aragorn to come and tell them what to do. It would be days yet before anyone in Minas Tirith wondered why they had not yet returned, and by then it would be too late—for not just the boy but the Elf as well, Gimli knew.

They needed to get out of this cave, and quickly, for both their sakes.

* * *  


  
“I really do not think you ought to be doing this,” Gimli muttered under his breath. He could not see the Elven glare directed at his back, but he could feel it.

“We already discussed this,” Legolas hissed back.

“But with your shoulder—”

“I truly do not think that I am so injured I cannot carry such a small child!” the Elf whispered.

Gimli sighed and rolled his eyes. _A plague upon the stiff necks of the Elves_ , he thought unhappily. He had almost convinced Legolas to allow him to carry the boy out when he had somehow insulted his friend’s stubborn pride. Gimli knew that, under normal circumstances, there would not even be a debate; first, they were in a cave, so Gimli would be leading their steps, and as such ought to have his hands unhindered save for the one torch he held to light their way. Second, Eldarion was already almost up to the Dwarf’s chin and it only made sense for the far taller Elf to carry the lad, who barely reached his knees. Gimli knew that he was exaggerating the height differences _slightly_ but the point was unchanged.

However, with the Elf’s injuries, Gimli had not wanted him carrying _anything_ more than a single torch, which he could easily hold with his unwounded arm. Now instead he was cradling a sleepy, battered child. Granted, Eldarion was quite light, but he still weighed a fair bit more than a torch. Gimli was not happy with the present state of affairs, but there was nothing he could do now—except complain, which he was doing with great skill, too.

Legolas apparently decided that the conversation was over. “Eldarion, do you feel any better?” Gimli’s ears perked up, listening worriedly to the child’s muffled reply.

“Nu-uh,” the boy mumbled into the Elf’s tunic. “It’s still all prickly.”

“I am sure that it is fine,” the Elf soothed him. “Your legs were merely pressed tightly for a time. As you grow used to the return of blood flow, they will no doubt cease to hurt.”

“All right,” Eldarion murmured softly, half-asleep in his uncle’s arms. They proceeded in tense silence for a time. Gimli increased their pace through the dark tunnels as much as he dared. He did not want his injured friend to put too much strain on his ankle—although he knew better than to mention anything of the sort—but he knew that it was just as important to leave these dark tunnels as soon as possible.

“How far is it to the entrance?” Legolas asked quietly. Gimli heard the tension in his friend’s voice and turned around to offer a reassuring smile.

“Only a few more turns,” he assured the Elf. He nodded stiffly, but did not look very reassured. Legolas’s face was pale and drawn in the dim torchlight and there were shadows over his eyes that Gimli was sure had nothing to do with the inadequate lighting—or perhaps they had everything to do with that.

Gimli’s heart ached with the thought of what these caverns were doing to his friend. He swore to himself that he would never mention caves in the Elf’s presence again—not even Aglarond. He paid no mind to how impossible a promise that would be to keep; he and Legolas were both responsible for their own realms, but they often conferred with Éomer or Aragorn, or each other, on the state of them. Not speaking of Aglarond when the Elf was around would not be possible—but Gimli would find a way. He would never do anything to deliberately cause his friend distress, and now that he knew what pain these caves inspired, he would see that he never did so again. Aragorn and Éomer would simply have to learn to deal with those new limits on conversation.

* * *  


  
Eldarion stirred slightly, trying to ease the pain of his burning legs. It felt like his fingers when he had been outside in the snow without his gloves and came back in to warm them by the fire—all tingly and on fire. Only worse. He bit his lip, hard; he would not show that it hurt. He would be brave, just like his ada and his uncles. He could see that both Uncle Legolas and Uncle Gimli were a little hurt, but they did not seem to be paying any attention to it, so he ignored it as well. If Uncle Legolas was not worried about the blood in his hair, Eldarion would not worry either. If Uncle Gimli was going to ignore his black eye, Eldarion would too.

Eldarion would be strong, just like his ada. Ada came home hurt lots of times, and he never complained—not even when nana scolded him. He would be a brave Ranger, just like ada. Ada would be so proud when he told him! Eldarion idolized his father, and he was determined to grow up just like him. If Aragorn could be brave when he was hurt, so could Eldarion.

He just wished it would stop being so painful; that made it very hard to ignore. His head was throbbing again and even though Uncle Legolas’s gait was as smooth as any Elf’s, his head still jarred slightly with each step. He bit his lip and swallowed hard, determined not to show that it hurt.

“Shh, _tithen min_ , rest.” Uncle Legolas shifted his arms slightly and brushed a cool hand across Eldarion’s throbbing brow. “ _Sedho_ , Eldarion, _hodo_. We shall be out soon. _Sedho_.” Eldarion relaxed slightly, soothed by the sound of Sindarin. It sounded like his nana when he had a bad dream in the middle of the night and she would come in and sit with him until he went back to sleep. Eldarion sniffed, suddenly fighting tears.

He missed his nana.

Uncle Gimli’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Here, we have reached the first chamber. Once we climb that pile of rocks, we shall be back where we began, but a few steps from the exit to this cursed place.”

Eldarion forced his eyes open and glanced over at the haphazard, rough “steps” that could be made out in the light of the torch before disappearing into the darkness above them.

“I see the building skills of the Dwarves are to be as highly praised as ever,” Uncle Legolas murmured quietly.

“Mahal. It looked better in the dark,” Uncle Gimli muttered, scowling darkly at the rocks in apparent betrayal. “It is perfectly safe to climb,” he continued. “Just do not slip.”

“My confidence knows no bounds,” Uncle Legolas retorted.

Eldarion laughed. He knew that his uncle would never build anything that wasn’t perfect; the rocks just looked so funny balanced on each other like that. “It looks as if it is about to fall over!” he exclaimed brightly. “How did you make it look like that?”

Uncle Gimli, for some reason, blushed beat red and grumbled something unintelligible under his breath before replying. “Secret of the Dwarves,” he said shortly.

Uncle Legolas snorted and said something in the Dwarven tongue that did not sound particularly polite. Eldarion giggled. Uncle Gimli glared.

“After you, Elf.”

“No, no, I would never wish to upstage the builder in the use of his own work,” Uncle Legolas demurred politely.

“You are the one whose arms are laden,” Uncle Gimli responded. Eldarion wanted to point out that he could walk, but he knew he couldn’t. “You shall go first, in case I should need to catch you.”

“The day a Dwarf needs to help an Elf maintain his balance will be a dire day indeed,” Uncle Legolas replied haughtily and stepped forward. He paused just before starting up the rough stairs.

“Elbereth, I feel as though I am going to regret this.”


	21. Out

Growing exasperated, Legolas at last spun around to face the Dwarf behind him. “Gimli, would you please stop _hovering!_ ” he began heatedly. But when the Elf spun, he forgot about the weakened condition of his injured ankle. Turning smartly on it under any other circumstances would have been as natural as breathing to the nimble Elf. Right now, however, it proved just flimsy enough to destroy his balance on the precarious stairs.

The first thought that flashed through the Elf’s mind as he shifted to regain his footing was that Gimli was never going to let him live this down. The second came after his ankle turned beneath him rather than hold his weight and it was a strange and less than polite combination of Sindarin, Rohirric, and a smattering of Khuzdul.

Then a steady hand latched onto his belt and anchored him in place on the rough pile of stones. It took the Elf only a moment to adjust his balance, careful not to wince at the increased pain of his now twice-sprained ankle. Legolas blushed bright red and stared fixedly above Gimli’s head. He braced himself for the inevitable mockery; he would let Gimli have the first word, mainly as the embarrassed Elf could think of nothing to say. Gimli drew in a breath that would have made an oliphaunt proud, and Legolas winced, knowing that he was going to hear about this for a long, long time. If he was lucky, Gimli would not think to relate the tale to Aragorn, Éomer, or Arwen’s brothers…Valar, he hoped he was that lucky.

When Gimli did speak, Legolas almost fell over again in surprise. Rather than the expected (and deserved) teasing insults, the Dwarf started yelling.

“What were you thinking?” Gimli bellowed in a voice that shook both the princes and the echoing cavern. “Have you no brains in that flighty Elvish head of yours? I swear by Mahal, I shall strangle you with your stubborn pride if you ever pull anything like that again!” Legolas stared at the incensed Dwarf in shock. Gimli was _angry?_ No, not angry—the Dwarf was furious!

Eldarion was as astonished as the Elf was; this did not sound like his uncles’ usual arguments. Was Uncle Gimli actually mad at Legolas? Confused and a little bit worried, the boy bit his lip and shrank a little into the suddenly limp arms that were carrying him. He did not know what was going on, but he knew that he did not understand it nor like it. His uncles weren’t ever supposed to _really_ be upset with one another; they were always a united front that just liked arguing with itself.

But all arguments had fled Legolas’s mind with his friend’s shout. “Gimli—I—what?” he stared at the Dwarf with wide eyes, confused. “I do not understand…”

“The next time you are injured, I do not care what you say—and if you tell me you are ‘fine’ I shall kill you right now—you will be dragged or carried, but I do not trust you to properly assess your own state, and certainly not to walk in it!”

“I would think you would be thrilled at the opportunity to relate to Aragorn that you were witness to an Elf losing his footing, Master Dwarf,” Legolas replied tartly. He had the feeling that he was going to regret that later, but if the thought of it would shake Gimli back to normal the Elf was willing to make the sacrifice.

“Thrilled?” Gimli roared, practically quivering with rage, and Legolas realized that perhaps it had not been such a good idea after all, although he still did not know why. “Elf, you could have _died!_ ”

 _Oh_. So that was it—Gimli was not trembling in rage but in fear. “I did not think of that,” he admitted quietly. “It is fortunate that such an occurrence was avoided.”

“Think—it—fortunate!” Gimli barked, coherence lost.

“See Uncle Gimli?” Eldarion piped up tentatively. “Everything is all right. You do not have to be worried.”

Legolas nodded, agreeing with the child. “Eldarion speaks truth. There is no cause for further alarm.”

“Further alarm?” Gimli repeated. “Further alarm?”

“Gimli— _mellon_ —please, calm yourself. ‘Twas no harm done, there is no need to carry on so.”

“Carry on?” the Dwarf shouted, eyes still burning. “Legolas you—” Gimli swallowed and dropped his eyes. His voice fell to a whisper. “I almost lost you, you fool Elf.”

Legolas suddenly found he had to swallow hard to force his own words past a lump in his throat. “I am not that easy to get rid of, fool Dwarf,” he said with a small smile, trying to coax an answering one from the other.

“Yet it was such a near thing—” Gimli’s words caught and he cleared his throat gruffly, blinking furiously as the smoke from the torch made his eyes water.

It must have been a decidedly strong torch, for the smoke was causing Legolas’s eyes to glisten wetly as well. “You were here,” the Elf said quietly. “I had no fear.”

Gimli’s voice failed him. He silently placed a hand on Legolas’s arm and they stood like that a moment in the dim glow of the torch surrounded by darkness.

“Are you done being mad at each other?” Eldarion’s voice broke the hush that had settled over the cave.

“Ay,” said Gimli with a raw laugh. “Ay, we are done.”

“Good,” the child replied seriously. “I do not like when you are really upset with each other.”

“Nor do I,” Legolas murmured. Gimli nodded heartily.

“Besides, Uncle Gimli, you didn’t _really_ have to worry. You know nothing can hurt you two,” the child pointed out confidently before yawning heavily and snuggling back into Legolas’s arms. Elf and Dwarf looked at the small boy. They exchanged watery smiles before once more starting their much slower climb out of the tunnels.

* * *  


  
Despite forced banter about careful footing and the state of the crude stairs, they emerged without further incident. After so long cooped in the lower levels, the upper caverns felt almost like freedom to the Elf. He paused, reveling in the feel of air—however faint—against his face. Then Gimli climbed from the pit and, brow still furrowed in concern, practically dragged Legolas away from the edge and back into the tunnel. Legolas murmured soothingly in Sindarin to Eldarion the entire journey, but none of them could afterwards remember what the words had been.

They were all too overcome by the sight of the stars as they stepped out of the cave. Stars, trees, and air—Gimli would never admit that he was as moved by it as the Elf was. But the Dwarf had to blink black tears as he took his first breath of the night wind. He cleared his throat, ready to make a gruff, teasing comment until he saw the tears sliding silently down his friend’s cheeks. Gimli swallowed and turned away a moment. When he looked back, they were both under control again, eyes, if not exactly dry, than at least no longer dripping.

They would have time to feel after they saw to the injuries accumulated in the darkness.

With an efficiency born of much practice, the Elf and Dwarf quickly set to work organizing a camp. Gimli retrieved their packs from the entranceway of the cave and tossed them to Legolas, who had carried Eldarion a few steps away to a soft mossy spot between two pines. The Elf pulled their blankets out and started to make the child comfortable while the Dwarf began gathering wood. After making certain that the boy was all right for a moment, Legolas disappeared with their waterskins and Gimli kindled their fire. The Elf was back in moments, and the draught of cool water did much to refresh them all. It also refreshed Eldarion’s stomach, which rumbled loudly.

No words were needed for the Elf and Dwarf to discuss their next acts. A nod and a glance and they set to work. They knew better than to attempt any complicated procedures when they were unskilled in the arts of healing, but they were safe enough with bandages and salve—and as all three of them had a talent for requiring such items, they made sure to carry a decent supply with them on their travels.

First, Legolas deftly slid Eldarion’s circulation-deprived feet from his soft boots while Gimli rummaged in their packs for a suitable collection of dried fruits, bread, and cheeses to become their dinner. Eldarion ate his portion while the Elf and Dwarf worked at massaging life back into his legs faster. He squirmed and mumbled, but distracted as the boy was by the food he did not express a great amount of discomfort at the procedure. His stomach comfortably full, the child lay back and allowed his uncles to check every inch of him for injuries. He rolled his eyes and sighed only once; the child of Aragorn was used to the practices of healers, and while neither Gimli nor Legolas would ever qualify as one they knew the rudiments.

Remarkably, Eldarion had emerged almost unscathed. He had a painful bump on the back of his head, but it did not seem dangerous. He had already slept and shown no signs of difficulty awakening, so they ruled out a concussion. There were a few small scrapes and bruises all along his back from the rough floor of the cave, but nothing that would not disappear in a few days. There were mottled bruises along his shins, and some particularly puffy ones on his knees and toes, but no bones were broken. The only real wound he had acquired was a shallow but long gash along the back of his right calf. A sharp rock must have snagged his skin along with his trousers when he was being dragged from beneath the rock.

“Valar,” Legolas whispered in a voice full of sudden guilt upon seeing the bloody slash, “I did that?”

Gimli rolled his eyes but Eldarion spoke before the Dwarf could open his mouth. “It is all right Uncle Legolas,” the child quickly reassured the Elf, “it does not hurt and I know it was not your fault.”

Gimli just raised his eyebrows, daring his friend to contradict the child. Legolas sighed and rolled his eyes but gave in. When the Dwarf and boy were united, that was really the only option left.

The gash was quickly salved and bandaged, and Eldarion happily reported that the burning in his legs had dropped down to plain pins-and-needles now. He hugged both of his uncles and thanked them for the wonderful adventure before asking what they were going to do tomorrow. Before either Elf or Dwarf could recover from their speechlessness, the boy gave a great yawn and dropped into slumber.

Gimli and Legolas stared at each other a moment before realizing that they both had their mouths hanging open in confused surprise. Chuckling softly, they tucked the child more securely into the blankets he was wrapped in. Eldarion mumbled and turned over, but did not wake. He would be all-but-unconscious until morning.

Which left plenty of time for Elf and Dwarf to deal with their own hurts—both physical and mental. Whatever those might prove to be, it mattered little. The cave and its darkness were far behind them. They were out; everything would be fine now, Gimli was confident. But best of all, the light was back in his friend’s eyes.


	22. Peace and Healing

"And now, Master Dwarf, if you have finished your repast, I think it to be time for the examination of your injuries."

Gimli paused in the process of chewing his last piece of bread to glance at his companion. Legolas had, when forced by subtle Dwarven threats, taken food although he had picked at his dinner more to appease Gimli than from any actual desire. It had seemed to the Dwarf that his friend was content simply to lean back against the trunk of a tree and drink in the sight of the stars for days. Apparently he had misjudged. This was made worse by the fact that he had been about to say much the same to Legolas, but the Elf had spoken first. Gimli swallowed and glared at his friend.

"You are half right, Master Elf," the Dwarf responded loftily, "which ought to go down in the histories as a remarkable event, for an Elf to accomplish even that much. Only it is your hurts we shall be inspecting first."

"Nay," said Legolas with a dismissive wave, "we saw to mine in the—cave." His voice trembled ever so slightly and his eyes flickered a moment in shadow but he continued calmly enough. "Yours have yet to be looked at, so the sensible route would be to start with them."

"And if the Elves ever showed sense, then you would realize that they will remain that way until we know how you fare," Gimli replied firmly.

"It is not the fault of the Elves that the Dwarves cannot recognize sense when it is given."

"And it is not the fault of the Dwarves that the Elves do not know how to make any."

"If you seek to draw me into an argument in order to distract me from my purpose here, Master Dwarf, you will soon learn that I cannot be so easily swayed."

"Then it will be a first, for a flighty Elf to hold one thought when another presents itself."

"Simply because the Dwarves do not know what thinking is does not mean that the Elves are not capable of doing so."

"Perhaps not, yet I have seen no evidence that they are capable of such a feat."

"A feat it may seem to lesser races, Dwarf, but I assure you, it is not so difficult a task."

"I assume you heard that from a hobbit? For I know that to the Elves, thinking steadily is all but impossible."

"It is fortunate for the Elves that we can handle more than one thought at a time. Alas, that the Dwarves are not so equally accomplished. Now cease this, Master Dwarf, and let me see your injuries."

"I will do so gladly, once I have seen yours."

"I think not, Master Dwarf. You are the first patient tonight."

"As an Elf, you cannot help that you do not think," Gimli retorted. "After all, if memory serves me—which it does—the first patient this night was Eldarion. You had best leave the thinking to me, and allow yourself to be the second."

"We would all be doomed, were I to trust to the thinking abilities of a Dwarf," Legolas shot back. "But as it seems that intelligence is too foreign a concept to penetrate your thick skull, perhaps incentive will move you. If you do not let me see your hurts, I shall inform Aragorn of your stubborn refusal to be tended to."

"In which case I shall do the same, and you will receive the same lecture as I do," Gimli replied smugly. "But if you wish to use incentive, I shall do so as well. You will allow me to see your wounds, or I shall be forced to tell Éomer what truly happened to cause Arod to become so filthy on your journey through the marsh when the princess was born."

"In which circumstance, I shall have no choice but to tell his sister what truly happened to her potted flowers outside the balcony door."

"Were that to happen, I would have to relate to the Twins how truly musical your rendition of the Lay of Nimrodel was last New Years."

"Which would then leave me no option but to regale them with the feats of horsemanship you showed in Rohan last year."

"That would force me to enlighten Arwen as to the culprit behind her daughters’ refusal to seek sleep at a reasonable hour."

"Causing me to enlighten her as to who is responsible for their recent sweet tooth."

"Which would lead me to tell your father what happened that night in Aglarond…"

"Which would mean that you would have to _talk_ to my father, the sight of which would be well worth the potential embarrassment such a recital might engender."

" _Humph_. I believe that we both are in possession of far too much knowledge to ever successfully blackmail the other, Legolas. It would be too suicidal an endeavor."

"I am afraid that I must agree with you, my friend, shocked ‘though I am to see such intelligence leave the mouth of a Dwarf."

"And I am equally shocked to see it penetrate Elvish ears successfully."

"Then you must be far too shocked to make an accurate assessment of my condition. Please, allow me to examine you first while you recover."

"Nay, I would insist upon allowing you the time to get over your far greater surprise."

"I would have to agree that a Dwarf speaking wisdom is far more shocking an occurrence than an Elf recognizing it," Legolas nodded sympathetically, "but fortunately I have had many years to learn how to cope with strange events, and am certain that I shall be all right in moments. I suggest you bow to my greater experience and acquiesce."

"And I suggest that you bow to my greater understanding of the situation."

"The day a Dwarf shows greater understanding than an Elf—"

"Is the day he will be named Elf-Friend," Gimli interrupted.

Legolas opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again abruptly. "You realize we could go on like this the entire night," he observed dryly.

"And well into the next day if Eldarion does not interrupt," Gimli agreed.

"Then you had best give in if you wish for us to accomplish anything ‘ere sunrise," Legolas pointed out calmly. "Elves are stubborn."

"And Dwarves are less so?"

There was no suitable argument for that particular observation, so the Elf said nothing. Instead, he fastened an intense glare on his friend which Gimli, for his part, returned almost in full. They sat thus for a large span of time. Around them crickets chirped, owls hunted, trees whispered, and the moon slowly crossed the sky. The Elf and Dwarf sat motionless, locked in a silent battle of wills.

Gimli shifted slightly with a groan for his stiffening joints. "I am getting too old for this," he muttered half in jest to himself. Legolas’s sharp ears easily caught the words and distress for a moment flashed with painful intensity through the Elf’s eyes before he buried it behind an ancient mask of serenity. Gimli could have slapped himself.

Age was something to laugh at with Éomer when a young colt proved feisty or with his fellows when they discovered noble strands of grey in their beards, but it was never brought up around Arwen and Aragorn, who would become quiet and withdrawn at the thought. As for he and Legolas, they joked about it—joked desperately, too terrified to do anything less than retreat behind the full force of their banter.

But now, with his friend’s nerves already strained and his customary calm only just beginning to reknit itself from his fright, was _not_ the time to bring up any mention of time’s flow or mortality’s span. _Fool of a Dwarf!_ Gimli cursed himself heartily as he watched Legolas retreat frantically behind his mask of immovable Elven Warrior. _And stubborn Elf_ , he added with a grumble. Gimli’s eyes narrowed as he watched his friend pretend that nothing was wrong, and realized suddenly that Legolas had not stopped pretending since he had found him in that accursed cave. The Elf had done such a good job of it that he had even managed to fool Gimli, but now the Dwarf could see what his friend was doing. Legolas did not want to have to think about what had just happened, and so he was attempting to distract himself.

"I have decided," he said aloud, "that Elves are the most stubborn creatures on all of Arda. Arguing with one is more fruitless than arguing with a rock, for rocks at least can be reasonable."

"As if a Dwarf were capable of recognizing reason," Legolas said to himself just loudly enough for Gimli to hear.

"If you wish to sit here all night and contemplate the stars or talk to the trees or some other trivial insanity, that is your desire," Gimli continued as if the Elf had not spoken. "I intend to sleep this night, and if the only way I can make you give me the peace to do so is to allow you to satisfy yourself that I am unscathed, I see no choice but to give in to your Elvish foolishness."

"At last, a Dwarf that can recognize sense when it is dangled in front of his eyes," Legolas replied as he rose—smoothly enough to annoy Gimli, who felt quite stiff from his long immobility—and joined Gimli by the fire. "Tunic, Dwarf—off. And perhaps while you do so, you might inform me as to the manner in which you acquired that black eye."

Gimli paused from unbuckling his ever-present chain mail and looked at the Elf curiously. "I have no idea of what you speak."

Legolas raised his eyebrows pointedly and Gimli tentatively probed his eyesockets. One was decidedly larger than the other, and quite puffy. Doubtless it was a remarkable shade of crimson and violet, as well. Gimli shrugged. "I suppose I must have run into something."

"With your face?" Legolas asked with a smirk.

Gimli scowled. "I must have tripped."

"Ah-ha," said Legolas with far too much smugness for the Dwarf’s happiness. "I suppose you must have, at least once or twice. You know," he continued as he reached to help Gimli wrestle his chain mail off, "for someone whose lectures on safety in caves are legendary, you might do well to heed such words of caution."

Gimli gave the Elf a scowl dark enough to have made Sauron quiver. "Less editorializing, Elf, or I shall change my mind. And leave me be! I need no aid to remove my armor!"

Legolas sat back complacently and stared blandly at Gimli as the Dwarf struggled to work his way out of his mail. When he attempted to raise his right arm high enough to pull it off over his head, he could not quite restrain a gasp and curse. He glared at Legolas, who schooled his face into complete innocence. Gimli sighed and rolled his eyes, then nodded agreement. Hiding his grin, the Elf rose and helped work his friend’s armor off, doing his best to cause the Dwarf as little pain as possible.

"Why do you wear such things?" the Elf asked as he lifted the heavy links and deposited them across a low tree branch. "Such weight, for such little reason…" he shook his head sorrowfully.

Gimli ignored him, having been involved in more discussions about the merits of armor opposed to that of mobility, knowing that they would never reach a suitable consensus. The Dwarves of Erebor valued the protection of their elegantly fashioned armor. The Elves of _Eryn Lasgallen_ valued the nimble speed and agility of their race. Both were quite firmly convinced that they were right, and neither would allow any evidence to change their minds.

Gimli managed to get his tunic half-off without assistance, but Legolas had to pull it the rest of the way; the Dwarf’s right arm simply would not extend that far upright. Gimli realized that he ought to have done this earlier, before the muscles stiffened, but that would have meant giving in to the Elf too early. There were some things that simply had to be done properly—even if it meant a painful shoulder later.

Legolas drew in his breath with a hiss and Gimli glanced down to see some very impressive colors dappled across his skin. The Elf muttered something that could only have been a curse and started gently probing the injured areas. Even his light touch made Gimli flinch. The Dwarf quickly steeled himself to sit still and quiet as his friend worked. Eventually he had to close his eyes to keep his concentration from slipping and giving away the fact that he was, in fact, in pain.

"What did you do," Legolas asked once, "crawl beneath the foot of a mûmakil?" Gimli just glared. The Elf sighed and sat back at last. "Well," he said as he pulled bandages and the jar of salve from one of their packs, "I have seen you in worse condition on a few occasions."

"A few bruises are hardly going to affect the endurance of a Dwarf," Gimli retorted confidently.

Legolas raised an eyebrow. Gimli glowered. _Blasted Elf, he knows me too well_ , the Dwarf grumbled to himself. Legolas smirked, earning him a silent reprimand which he pretended not to see.

"You shall be sore for quite some time," he went on as if their silent conversation had not occurred. "Aragorn should look at you when we return to Minas Tirith in order to be certain that there is no lasting damage, but from what I can tell you have but a few cracked ribs and a heavily bruised and strained shoulder. I am going to put it in a sling—and if you argue with me, I shall retreat to the top of this tree and you shall have to come up to me if you wish to see my injuries," the Elf promised.

"That is not fair."

Legolas smiled innocently. "I do not take your meaning," the Elf lied through his teeth. Gimli delivered his harshest glare but it was ruined by a sudden hiss of pain as the Elf slathered some of the athelas-imbued salve on his abused shoulder. "I am also going to bandage your ribs to make certain that their injuries do not worsen," he informed the Dwarf. "And I suggest that you refrain from sleeping on your right side for some time. It would not be comfortable."

 _Trust an Elf for understatements_ , Gimli thought as he rolled his eyes. "What would I do without you here to advise me, Master Elf?"

"No doubt you would be in dire straits indeed, Master Dwarf, without me here to look after you."

"No more dire than you own," Gimli retorted. "Now if you have appeased your curiosity, off with that tunic and let me see what you have managed to do to yourself this time."

Legolas turned a shriveling glance on his friend. "Do you honestly think that you managed to hide your limp from me?" he asked with a smile. "Oh no, my friend, I fear that my senses are keener than that."

"Curse all the Elves and their sense then," Gimli scowled. "I tell you it is nothing."

"And I tell you that I shall believe you when I have seen that for myself."

Elf and Dwarf had another staring contest, but it is difficult to beat an Elf at such a game; they rarely blink, and stubbornness can only carry one so far. They argued silently, but both of them knew that Legolas was going to win. At last the Elf smirked and Gimli sighed, rubbing his forehead in defeat. Grumbling, he removed his right boot and rolled his trouser leg up to expose his knee, which had already swollen to almost half again its normal size and was turning a delightfully putrid purple.

"And might I inquire as to how you accomplished such an impressive swelling, Master Dwarf?" Legolas asked lightly as he gently prodded the affected area.

Gimli hissed in pain but managed not to flinch away from his friend’s hands. The Dwarf looked down, embarrassed, and muttered, "there might have been a reason that I warned you about the slipperiness of those rocks…"

Legolas sighed and shook his head. "I swear, Dwarf, you shall be the death of me." He looked up as Gimli hissed in suppressed pain again. "Perhaps we shall take a closer look at your knee tomorrow, when the swelling has gone down," he suggested. Gimli nodded, trying to look as if he did not care. "Good. Then let me see your head."

"My head? Elf, simply because your brains as in a state of perpetual addlement—"

"Master Dwarf, if you fell from that so-called ‘staircase’ of yours, then in all likelihood you hit your head on the way down. Now let me check it for damage. I know the skulls of the Dwarves are hard, but I should not like for you to lay down to sleep only to refuse to awake again."

Gimli heard the current of fear hidden by his friend’s bantering tone and nodded agreement. The Elf would never be able to rest easy until he had ascertained for himself that the Dwarf was fine, no matter how many reassurances Gimli gave. It was a trait they had in common—although perhaps they merely knew each other well enough to know never to trust the other for an accurate assessment of an injury. It was not something that they could be consistently relied upon to do, which gave Aragorn no end of grief. But while tormenting the Elf was highly entertaining, Gimli decided that it was not fitting in this instance.

"Very well, Elf, you may reassure your silly little head that mine is intact, or as intact as your company can leave the mind of a saner being. But if you touch one hair of my beard, I shall string you up by your own bowstring."

Legolas _hmmed_ noncommittally as he carefully felt through Gimli’s thick hair for any contusions or bumps. Both of them knew that he would never carry out that particular threat. Legolas’s bow had been a gift of the Lady Galadriel, and Gimli would do no harm to anything that Lady had once touched.

That was not to say, of course, that he would not find a substitute method of revenge should such a thing prove necessary.

"I can find no more wrong than usual," Legolas said after a few minutes. "You are fortunately unharmed, thanks no doubt to your thick head. You are, however," he added sorrowfully, "unfortunately still a Dwarf."

"And thank Mahal for that," Gimli retorted sourly. "Contagious, plague-like beings you may be, but no amount of time spent in the company of an Elf is ever going to turn a solid, sensible Dwarf into one of you brainless, flighty, foolish creatures."

Legolas appeared shocked. "There is such a thing as a sensible Dwarf?" he gaped.

"Ay," said Gimli firmly as he laced the ties on his tunic. "And this Dwarf is sensible enough to know that the foolish, flighty Elf in front of him is merely trying to distract from the next part of this procedure. It will not work, Elf; Dwarves are tenacious creatures."

"And here I would have said ‘stubborn to a fault,’" Legolas muttered, "but I suppose semantics are beyond you."

Gimli glared but refused to rise to the bait. "Tunic, Elf. Off, now."

Legolas sighed and made a great show out of reluctant obedience, rolling his eyes as he slowly pulled it off. Gimli could barely restrain a snort when the Elf paused with it half-past his head. He struggled for a moment before sighing.

"Gimli, I am afraid that with my shoulder in its current state I cannot further extricate myself without assistance," the prince admitted reluctantly and with as much dignity as he could manage. Considering that he was sitting on the ground with one arm stuck in his tunic, which was completely obscuring his head from view and muffling his words, that was not much, but Legolas did his best.

Gimli had to bite his lip to keep from laughing, but he managed both to do that and to pull the shirt over his friend’s fair head without causing the Elf a great deal of pain—only embarrassment. Gimli’s only regret was that he was trying so hard not to break into loud guffaws that he could not speak any of the ever-so-perfect comments that occurred to him while he was doing so. If he opened his mouth, he would have burst out laughing and then Legolas would sulk and refuse to allow the Dwarf to tend his hurts. So Gimli kept his mouth shut, but it was a sorely tempting trial.

He could not help but mutter a curse when he saw what lay beneath his friend’s tunic. If the bruising had looked dreadful on his flesh, it was obscene against Legolas’s Elven paleness. The Elf, for his part, regarded it calmly.

"That is not so bad as I had thought," he said lightly.

Gimli glared at him. _Elves!_ he swore to himself and started feeling for damage. Legolas stayed perfectly still and made no sound as Gimli gently probed his injuries, but he could feel the Elf quivering slightly beneath his fingers. He kept his touch as light as he could, but when he felt a rib shift knew that he had to be causing pain. "That is decidedly broken," he informed the Elf who gave him a humorless glance that said he was already fully aware of that fact, and if Gimli wished to sit there and inform him of what he already knew, the Elf had better things to do with his time. Gimli snorted, asking _like what?_ but refrained from further comment.

At least until he looked at the Elf’s shoulder. It was a deep, mottled purple and slightly swollen. He knew that it took a lot to make Elvish flesh swell, and while he had already previously assured himself that it was not dislocated he checked again, carefully. Legolas winced but gave no other sign of discomfort.

"I would suggest that you refrain from archery for a time, Master Elf," the Dwarf said lightly. "It is not, in fact, dislocated—as we noted earlier," he added before Legolas could do so for him, "but it is very badly wrenched. If I am to be in a sling, then you shall as well," he finished firmly, daring the Elf with a glare to argue with him. Legolas glared back, but knew that this was a battle he would not win if he wished for Gimli to take the same care.

"Good, I am glad you agree. Now, let me see your ankle," he continued hurriedly before they could start arguing. Legolas sighed but did as he was told, gently removing his soft boot. It was made difficult because the ankle was rather puffy and larger than its normal slim state. Gimli winced; it did not look as bad as his knee, but considering that it was an Elf he knew that it had to be a serious sprain at the least to cause such a reaction. And the nimble, graceful Elves did not twist ankles easily. Both Elf and Dwarf braced themselves, but Legolas had to bite back a cry of pain when Gimli touched the injured area. The Elf bit his lip and averted his face, but when Gimli asked if he was all right he nodded determinedly.

The Dwarf decided to be as gentle but more importantly as fast as he could. He knew that no matter how careful he was this was going to cause his friend pain and he did not want to draw the ordeal out. Trying to ignore the fact that he was hurting the Elf, Gimli felt the ankle carefully. It was difficult to tell with the swelling, but he thought it might be fractured.

"No," Legolas whispered with a carefully controlled voice, "just sprained."

Gimli looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"Trust me," the Elf breathed, "I have done both often enough to tell the difference. If anything, it is a hairline fracture. That might be better, as it would likely heal faster."

"You mean to say that clumsiness is common enough to you that your have injured yourself like this numerous times?" Gimli teased, trying to distract the Elf.

It worked. Legolas glared at him. "I would like to see you survive a leap from the top of one of the great trees of _Eryn Lasgallen_ with little more than an injured ankle," the Elf replied crossly.

"Ah," said Gimli, "but I would be sensible enough not to leap from the top of one of those trees. I have seen how high up they are, and how far the ground is from their tops."

"You would do so if there were Spiders on your tail," Legolas pointed out sourly.

"Perhaps," Gimli replied, "but I would have to be up the tree in the first place."

"And that would be a rare enough feat that the spiders would doubtless have all died of shock at the sight of a Dwarf managing to display such agility."

"Not to mention such Elvish foolishness," the Dwarf agreed quickly.

"Wisdom doubtless seems foolish to creatures who are too limited to understand it."

"Ah!" exclaimed Gimli. "At last I understand why the Elves so often call the intelligent acts of the Dwarves foolish!"

"I was not aware that we had bothered to find anything to call such an event. If it does not exist, there is no reason to name it."

"I fear your brains have become addled," Gimli sadly informed his friend as he finished wrapping the Elf’s ankle tightly.

"It is to be expected when one spends any great deal of time in the company of a Dwarf," Legolas replied with equal sorrow. "Alas, I am the victim of such ill fortune."

"Ill fortune indeed," Gimli scoffed. "The Elves should be grateful for my company."

"Grateful?" Legolas echoed with a laugh. "Say rather that the Elves are indeed generous and tolerant to put up with such company for the sake of the Dwarves."

"And here I was unaware that Elves and Dwarves were on such friendly terms," Gimli observed with a smirk.

"Compared to previous days? They might as well be kin."

"Which is a terrifying thought."

"It is indeed."

"I do not know how Aragorn stands it."

"Gimli, I fear it is your wits that are addled. Aragorn has no Dwarvish kin."

"I was speaking of the Lady Arwen."

"In which case you are speaking of the granddaughter of the Lady Galadriel, yes?"

Gimli felt it was beneath his dignity to respond to such a comment. The Dwarf turned away from the grinning Elf with a sniff and reached for one of the pieces of bandages that Legolas had wet at the stream in preparation for cleaning wounds when he had brought their water. "Let us see how bad that wound on your head really is."

Legolas leaned backwards, hands slightly raised as if to fend off an attack. "Nay," he said quickly, "I have already assured you that ‘tis but a scratch, and I shall clean it myself."

"It has bled quite a bit for being nothing more than a scratch. I think not."

"It is not your fault that you are a Dwarf," Legolas responded. "None blame you for your inability to think."

"By Mahal, Elf, you will let me see your—your hands! What have you done to them?"

Legolas glanced down at the appendages in question and blushed faintly. He quickly hid them behind his back and attempted to look innocent. "Nothing, Master Dwarf," he bluffed vainly.

"Give me those hands," Gimli practically growled.

Legolas sighed. "Gimli, ‘tis nothing. They are barely scraped."

The Dwarf fixed his friend with a glare powerful enough to be vaguely reminiscent of Thranduil when the Elven-king was at his most regal. "If you do not let me see those hands of yours, Elf, I shall tell the princesses that you do not love them."

Legolas’s jaw dropped. "You would not!"

"I would indeed. I would further tell them that you do not enjoy their tea parties, and that you will not be coming to see them on their begetting day."

Legolas glared, his own frown conjuring vague images of his father as well. "You would not do such a thing, because you know that the children would be upset."

"Then if you do not want to risk such an occurrence, let me see what you have done to yourself."

Legolas scowled unhappily but extended the limbs in question. They were bloody, but it was as the Elf had said; they were only scraped a bit across the knuckles.

"And how did you manage to do this?" Gimli asked as he glared daggers at his friend.

"The rock beneath which Eldarion was trapped was rough on the bottom," the Elf informed him haughtily. "And there was not much room in which to maneuver the boy’s legs."

Gimli’s face darkened. "If I had been able to raise that cursed rock only a bit higher…"

"It quite possibly would have tumbled sooner and done far worse damage than a few scratches," Legolas interrupted sharply. "Gimli, it barely stings. By morning it shall be nearly healed. I assure you, the damage is negligible."

"But…but…" the Dwarf protested, "but Legolas, it is your _hands!_ "

"Oh Elbereth!" the Elf muttered. "Gimli, I am hardly going to be incapable of archery because of some scraped knuckles," he informed his friend shortly. "If you persist in this foolishness, I shall have to tie you to the tree by your beard until you come to your senses."

Gimli scowled but fell silent. He knew Legolas was right; it really was little more than a few scratches. But the sight of his friend’s precious hands stained with blood that did not belong to an enemy unnerved the Dwarf. He had been anxious enough when the Elf had risked them beneath that rock; to see that injury had been caused because he could not raise it high enough off the ground sat ill with Gimli. "You are right," he said aloud. "But here, let me clean the blood off—solely so that I may feel better at seeing how small the wounds really are."

Legolas rolled his eyes but obediently held his hands out for the Dwarf’s ministrations. Gimli had to admit that once the blood was cleaned off, the injury really did look negligible. A few scrapes were hardly going to inconvenience his friend. But that did not stop Gimli from feeling vaguely guilty that the Elf’s hands—of all things—had been hurt, small though that hurt was. They were, after all, his _hands._

Gimli had heard horror stories of archers in wars that, when taken captive, were "relieved" of the first two fingers of their arrow-drawing hand in order to prevent them from returning to the battle. Only humans could be both so ingenious and so cruel at the same time, but that had been long ago even by the reckoning of an Elf. Yet the story—and more importantly, the way Legolas had paled and shuddered when it was told—had stuck with the Dwarf vividly. Ever since, he had become protective of his friend’s hands, irrational though it was.

The Dwarf swallowed, and forced his mind away from the chilling image. "Very well, you have reassured me as to the state of your hands. Now let me see your head," he said firmly.

Legolas inched away. "Nay, Gimli, that is all right. I shall clean the blood away myself." The Dwarf scowled. "I swear to you by Elbereth and Eärendil, Master Dwarf, ‘tis but a scratch!"

Gimli’s glare intensified. "And why, pray tell, Master Elf, are you so insistent that I do not see this ‘scratch,’ if scratch it truly is?"

Legolas’s cheeks flushed lightly and he dropped his head from the Dwarf’s accusing eyes. "Well," he said with some embarrassment, "if you must know, it is because the blood is dried and matted in my hair, and I know from experience that it will not be enjoyable to remove."

Gimli sat a moment, processing, then with a mixture of amusement and exasperation sputtered, "you are afraid that I will pull your hair?"

Legolas’s blush deepened and he nodded. Gimli blinked, then chuckled. Soon he was laughing heartily, his mirth increased by the deeply offended Elvish glare the prince was directing at him. Bringing himself back under control, helped by the pain in his side when he laughed, Gimli wiped his eyes and tried to force his grin to become a suitably serious expression. "I solemnly swear, Master Elf, that I shall do my best not to pull your fragile hair," he said gravelly—then chuckled, ruining his straight face.

Legolas muttered something decidedly uncomplimentary and silently gave in with a sigh. Swallowing his chuckles, Gimli took one of the damp cloths and began to gently scrub the dried blood away from the wound in his friend’s fair hair. He did his best to keep a somber expression, too, he really did.

Legolas gradually relaxed and ceased his affronted huff. Gimli patted the Elf on the back helpfully—only to find that the Elf was trembling, and visibly. The Dwarf frowned.

"I am not _really_ pulling your hair, am I?" he asked, confused.

Legolas started and looked at him, then laughed, but the laugh was almost a sob. "No, _elvellon_ , you are being quite gentle," the Elf assured him in a voice that he was desperately trying to keep steady.

"Legolas," Gimli stopped his ministrations and laid a soft hand on his friend’s shoulder, "what is wrong?"

The Elf quivered for a moment, then suddenly broke into tears.


	23. Friendship

Gimli had no idea what to do. He had seen Legolas cry many times—Elves wept at the strangest, slightest things—but never like this. This was not the silent tears of ageless sorrow that he was accustomed to. This was like—the first thing that came to mind was a frightened child. Gimli did not know what to do. The Dwarf looked for rescue, but neither Arwen nor Aragorn were here right now. Even the Twins or Éowyn would have been a great help; they would have known what to do, he was sure. Right now, Gimli would even be glad to see Thranduil come striding through the trees, eyes snapping angrily at the Dwarf. But no one came; he was on his own.

The Dwarf awkwardly patted his friend’s back as the Elf sobbed. He murmured something that was supposed to be soothing, but had no idea what he was saying. Time dragged on as Gimli’s mind raced for a solution, but this was a situation he could not come up with a proper response to. He had stood by Legolas in all sorts of circumstances and moods; he had seen the Elf in battle and in peace, content and tormented by sorrow and the Sea, but he could not ever remember him being so freely devastated before.

“Legolas, my friend,” he stammered awkwardly, “please, Legolas, tell me what is wrong.”

“So dark,” he whispered, more to himself than the Dwarf. Gimli wondered if his friend even knew that he was there, but the desperate grip on his arms attested to the Elf’s awareness of him. “So dark, so small…” the prince breathed in between hitching sobs.   
Gimli closed his eyes in pain. Had that accursed cave done more than a few wounds to the Elf’s body? Would it cast its shadow across his bright soul as well? Gimli knew that Elves were less vulnerable to mortal injuries than other races, but the trade-off was that their emotions could do them far more harm than any blade or disease. If this experience had some permanent effect upon the Elf…

The Dwarf firmly pushed those thoughts from his mind. Legolas was just upset. He would be fine soon, the Dwarf told himself desperately. He was reacting to his claustrophobia; the attack that he could not allow himself to suffer in the caves was just manifesting itself now. That was all. “It is all right, Legolas. We are out. See, the stars shine brightly overhead tonight.” _And now I am talking about the beauty of the stars!_ some detached part of Gimli’s mind pointed out ruefully. _That is what comes of befriending Elves_. Gimli harshly told that part of his mind to be quiet; he was too worried about said Elf for jest at the moment.

Gimli cursed himself for not thinking of this sooner. He knew that Legolas did not like being enclosed in small spaces, especially when they were dark and cut off from the outside. And he had recently learned that not only did the Elf dislike them, he was apparently terrified of them and merely hid it well. Obviously he had been terrified down there; Gimli remembered the last time they had been trapped by a cave in and shuddered. Legolas was just reacting to the ordeal he had just gone through. He would be fine in moments, back to his usual nearly-unflappable Elven self. He just needed a moment to get a hold of himself again.

“See, Legolas, you can feel the wind again,” Gimli pointed out heartily. “And—and hear those blasted trees,” he continued in desperation, trying to distract the Elf from his memories and draw him back out of the cave again. It seemed he was reliving the experience, and Gimli’s heart already ached at the thought of what his friend had gone through once. He did not want Legolas to have to feel it all again. “Yes, the trees. I am certain that they are, uh, are pleased to see you,” he added frantically. “The darkness is gone, I swear to you. The darkness is gone…”

The Elf, still shaking, drew away from the Dwarf’s arms after a moment. He seemed to be making a supreme effort to bring himself under control. Gimli placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder but Legolas flinched away. The Dwarf understood instantly; Legolas was not rebuking the offer of aid, or of his friendship; he merely knew that accepting any comfort now would send him into sobs once more. The Elf’s breathing gradually slowed although he continued to tremble.

“I am sorry,” he whispered quietly, wiping futilely at the tears that glistened in his eyes and on his fair face.

“For what?” Gimli asked softly, eyes full of concern.

“For…for this,” Legolas replied, unwilling to meet his friend’s gaze. He ducked his head and stared with blurred eyes at the grass his fingers were idling twining through. “It seems that I am still causing you no end of trouble,” he whispered sadly.

“Have we not already had this conversation?” Gimli asked wryly. His friend made no response. Frowning, the Dwarf reached out to move the curtain of pale hair that separated him from the Elf. “Legolas,” he said kindly, “the only trouble you cause me I accept gladly, but I will not accept your guilt. It is I who ought to apologize; I should have never let you convince me to return to that accursed cave, least of all to allow you to enter it. Not now that I know better.”

“Now that you know how much of a coward I truly am?” the Elf asked bitterly, still refusing to meet Gimli’s eyes—which darkened with a scowl as his friend spoke.

“Elf, I know that we have already had this talk, and while normally I do not mind in the least re-treading familiar ground with you, I feel that this is one that need not be repeated.” He stared at his friend, who seemed suddenly so fragile. It was as if something had broken—

Then Gimli understood. Legolas had not been nearly as calm as he had pretended in the cave for the sake of Eldarion—ay, and for his sake, too, the Dwarf realized. Legolas had shoved his terror behind that Elvish façade of unruffled cool that had been so well ingrained in the Mirkwood warrior that the mask would likely have withstood even the physical presence of Sauron himself. But now he was out, and the relief combined with the knowledge that Eldarion was fast and log-like asleep and would not be frightened to see Legolas’s fears had proved too much for the pretense to bear. His desperate mask of control had shattered. Gimli shivered, wondering how close his friend had really come to breaking inside that dark abyss.

Tears sprang to Gimli’s eyes and the Dwarf was forced to swallow many times before he could bring himself to speak. He could not have them both in tears. “Legolas,” he said huskily, “my friend, I am so sorry. I—I am—” He cleared his throat, searching for words but the right ones refused to come. At last he said, “you are braver even than I thought.”

“Do not mock me,” the Elf whispered harshly.

“Nay,” Gimli rushed to correct him, “I do no such thing. I had—I had no idea how difficult it really was. I do not know if I could have shown equal courage under such fear, or kept up such a strong front of calm, in circumstances of the sort.”

“You did well enough on the Paths of the Dead.”

Gimli shuddered. “Perhaps; certainly I still have the nightmares to prove the journey. Yet it was a near thing, Legolas—a very near thing. Almost I could not bring myself to enter them. Were it not for seeing you walking calmly in front of me, unafraid of any specter or spirit, I doubt I would have found the courage to do so.”

“In Harad—”

“In Harad I was too angry to be frightened. That is not the same thing at all, and you are attempting to distract me so that you may focus on feeling poorly without my interference,” the Dwarf said huffily. His voice softened. “Legolas, it is all right. It is over.” He grasped the Elf’s shoulder and felt it shaking beneath his hand. Legolas nodded jerkily but said nothing.

Gimli took the Elf’s chin and turned his head so that he could catch his eyes. “Legolas—it truly is over,” he repeated firmly. The sight of the Elf’s tear-streaked face was almost enough to break Gimli’s resolve and he had to blink furiously. “My friend,” he said softly, “we are all safe. You can relax your control now.”

Legolas gave a mirthless laugh. “Gimli, I lost my control some time ago. When first I awoke after the collapse, I think. It has been a—a strain to keep up the pretense of it.”

“Once again, the Elves’ penchant for understatement comes to light,” Gimli muttered in a light tone that did not match the worried look in his eyes. Legolas tried to summon a smile for the Dwarf’s jest but failed. Gimli looked at him sorrowfully. “My friend, you can let go the shattered shards of it now,” he said quietly. “There is none here to see but me.”

Legolas stared at him a moment, trembling as he clutched desperately at the long-broken mask of control that had carried him through the darkness. Then he leaned forward and rested his head on Gimli’s broad shoulder. “Thank you, _elvellon_ ,” he whispered as fresh tears ran down his cheeks. “I am sorry that you had to see me like that, yet…I thank you.”

Gimli swallowed hard and nodded, but could not stay his own tears for long. The two friends sat long in the starlit night, weeping gently as the strain of the last few hours slowly drained away.

Everything would be all right. They were out; they were together. Everything would be all right.

…Providing, of course, that they survived the wrath of Queen Evenstar.

* * *  


  
Arwen Undómiel smiled fondly as she watched the intrepid explorers returning triumphantly to the city—Eldarion’s heartfelt assurance to her of the manner in which they would return. The queen’s eyes narrowed as she studied them closely. Gimli was moving with a pronounced limp, as if his right knee was stiff. Legolas was walking gingerly as well, favoring his left ankle. Both of them were carefully keeping their right arms held close to their sides, and she was certain that Gimli was sporting a rather colorful black eye. Her sharp grey eyes flashed to the small figure bouncing happily between them, but Eldarion seemed entirely unharmed.

Arwen frowned suspiciously at the three figures for a moment before turning and heading deliberately towards the gate to meet them upon their entrance to Minas Tirith. She was waiting calmly, arms crossed and an expectant expression on her face, as they walked in past the saluting guards.

Her eyes went first to her son who was springing along happily and chatting with his adopted uncles. Then she glanced intensely at the other two. Gimli’s eye was a deep shade of dark purple, with faded yellow growing around the edges, and he was definitely limping. As was Legolas, who gave off an almost imperceptibly impression of…it was difficult to associate the word with the collected prince, but Arwen was tempted to say “frailty.” The piercing glare she directed on them was interrupted by a sudden attack.

“Nana!” Eldarion cried excitedly and launched himself at her. Arwen’s fierce expression dissolved into a soft smile as her small son attached himself to her waist. “Oh, nana, I had the most wonderful time it was so exciting there were trees and a cave and lots of rocks and animals and it was so much fun and can I go to Rohan soon?” He looked up at her eagerly, panting from lack of breath.

Arwen raised an eyebrow. “Rohan?” she asked curiously, wondering where that fit into everything else.

“Yes, Uncle Legolas told me stories about ada when he was younger and Uncle Éomer and please nana may I go? _Saes?_ Please!”

Arwen gently patted the boy’s disheveled hair. “We shall see,” she told him gently. She looked up at the Elf and Dwarf with an inscrutable expression. They both smiled innocently.

Very innocently.

Entirely _too_ innocently.

 _Valar_ , Arwen moaned to herself, _what have they done this time?_

“And nana, it was so exciting, there was this giant rock and I was trapped after it fell and Uncle Gimli lifted it up all by himself and then we had to climb this amazing staircase he built that looked like it was going to fall down and Uncle Legolas sang to me and told me stories so I wouldn’t be bored while Uncle Gimli went to find the torches and—”

Arwen tried to skewer the two culprits with a glare, but Legolas and Gimli had already silently conferred. Deciding that discretion far outweighed valor where the noble Lady Arwen was concerned, they had begun fleeing as soon as the queen had looked away from them. They had fled very discreetly of course, until they were a suitable distance away and could break out into a—limping—run.

Arwen smirked wryly. She knew that once she heard Eldarion’s version of events, it would not prove difficult to coax the rest of the story out of the Lords of Ithilien and Aglarond.

And if that failed, she could always employ her brothers to do a judicious bit of snooping when they arrived for a visit in two weeks. She could properly exact her vengeance once she knew the true tale.

Then Arwen froze. Her brothers would be here in two weeks.

Legolas and Gimli would still be here. Elladan and Elrohir would be here. Eldarion would be here.

The queen groaned. Gondor was doomed.


	24. Epilogue—Aglarond

Gimli son of Gloin hummed happily to himself as he carefully chipped a small fragment of stone no more than a hairsbreadth from the edge of a stalagmite in the Glittering Caves. He stepped back to admire his handiwork with a satisfied smile. The caves grew more beautiful every day. Then he frowned, pondering. _Yes_ , he decided, _it still needs one more adjustment…_

He dimly overheard a slight commotion a few tunnels away but tuned it out, focusing his attention on the delicate rock in front of him. Ever so delicately, the Dwarf aligned his chisel. He held his breath and gently tapped it with the small hammer he held. _Yes, perfect!_ Gimli exclaimed to himself with a proud grin.

“I see that you are as incomprehensible as ever, Master Dwarf,” a light, musical voice said from behind him, causing the Dwarf to jump. He spun around and glared at Legolas.

“And just what are you doing here, Elf?” he asked with a dark frown.

Legolas looked up innocently from where he was sitting cross-legged on the smooth floor of the cave. “I had need to see Éomer, and thought perhaps to look in upon you while I was in Rohan,” he replied calmly, mirth twinkling in his bright eyes over Gimli’s surprise.

The Dwarf’s frown deepened. “I meant, what are you doing in this _cave?_ Someone would have fetched me—”

“And drag you away from your work?” Legolas shook his head. “I did not mean to intrude, Gimli. Simply to visit.”

Gimli quickly started gathering his tools. “Then we shall visit outside,” he said firmly, then muttered under his breath, “fool Elf, ought to know better.”

“I am afraid that I do not understand,” Legolas said coolly, not moving from his seated position.

Gimli glowered down at his friend. “You, Master Elf, are _not_ supposed to be in any more _caves_ ,” he informed his friend firmly. “I thought that I had made that clear.”

Legolas’s eyebrows shot up. “And so I am no longer to visit you in Aglarond?”

“Nay,” he said sharply, “you are to visit me _outside_ of Aglarond. What would ever possess you to enter a cave, you fool Elf?”

Legolas looked at him with incomprehension. “ _Elvellon_ ,” he said simply, “you are in the cave.”

Gimli opened and shut his mouth a few times.

Legolas smirked. “You look like Peregrin Took when you do that,” he informed his friend smugly.

“But—but,” the Dwarf stammered, “your fear…”

Legolas shook his head. “Not of Aglarond, at least not here. There is much light and enough space that I am not unreasonably discomfitured.” Then he smiled softly. “Here the small, dark spaces may be passed quickly, and I know that you will be there to lead the way.”

Gimli swallowed hard and put a hand on the Elf’s shoulder. He blinked away a sparkling of tears that formed in his eyes. “My friend—” he began, then fell silent, unable to continue. They smiled at each other; there was no need for words between them. They understood. The Dwarf smiled.

 _My friend._

  
**The End.**   



End file.
